Awkward
by Ciule
Summary: Set in the sixth year, Hermione and Professor Snape find themselves victims to the Marriage Law, rushed into a marriage for safety reasons. Hermione cringes, as she ponders the upcoming wedding night. AU, explicit.
1. Awkward

_Hermione Snape_. The combination of words made her cringe. And now, this was her. Her new name as of _today_. Her stomach was full of seasick butterflies, or maybe the butterflies were drunk, as they continually crashed into each other and into the lining of her stomach.

She would be the laughingstock of the whole school. _The sixth grade wife of a professor, the barely-of age-wife of the bat of the dungeons. The child bride of the greasy git. A witch who did anything to get good grades, even marrying a teacher twenty years her senior._ Hermione groaned on the inside, taking great care to not make any, audible sound.

She was absolutely sure everyone in the school, including her teachers, would snigger at her sex life – _her having sex with her Professor_ – when they saw her next. Those who were cheeky enough would even _ask_ her. The thing was, right now, she wondered herself. _What, exactly, would it be like?_ Hermione shuddered. _Hermione Snape. It was awful._

She realized that she hadn't turned a page in almost half an hour. Here she was, in an unfamiliar room, in her _husband's_ quarters. The rooms were better than she had expected, she supposed: Lots of books, many, many more than she had imagined, neatly organized after subject and alphabetical order on shelves that spanned the considerable height of the dungeon room. Still, the room was almost cave-like, and the only window spread a greenish, murky light, filtered through the waters of the Hogwarts lake.

She was sitting in a well-used, crinkled black leather chair, comfortable enough, but oh-so-very bachelor-looking in front of a blazing fire. Hermione guessed the room would be icy cold without the fire in the cavernous fireplace, big enough for a man as tall as Snape to stand comfortably in it when Flooing. Still, the stone walls emitted a chill from the early November frost outside. Beside her chair, there was a small, ornate wooden table, currently holding a tumbler filled half-way to the brim with smoking Firewhisky. It wasn't hers, because on the other side of the table, _he_ was sitting in a chair similar to her own, longs legs stretched out in direction of the fireplace, reading the newest edition of _Potions Monthly_ , obviously with great interest and concentration. At least, he hadn't said a word since they had entered the room. _Not a single word since their marriage ceremony was completed._

Her eyes shied away from him. _Sweet Morgana, she was married to Snape. What had she ever done to deserve this? What would life be, married to Snape? What did married people really do together?_ She tried to picture her parents: Happy, smiling, doing each other little favours like making coffee for each other, serving breakfast in bed to the one sleeping in, giving back rubs or massaging tired shoulders… _No, she just couldn't picture Snape doing any of those things, especially not with herself._

Hermione wondered: _Did he ever go on holidays_? She tried to picture him, lounging comfortably, sunbathing beside the pool at the hotel in Bretagne where her family usually stayed. The image almost made her smile, trying to depict her stern Professor in black – _it had to be black –_ swim shorts with sunglasses on his nose. What with him being so pale, he'd get a sunburn in no time. Hermione almost sniggered to herself, but then she got queasy by the thought of herself rubbing him in with sun screen lotion. _Merlin, touching Snape's naked body…_

Blinking feverishly to herself to clear her mind from _those_ images, not wanting a reminder on what would happen in a very short while, she imagined going to a museum with him instead. _Yes, that would be safe enough. She could picture him and herself browsing paintings and sculptures._ But then, the image was disturbed by him lecturing her on what they'd see. Not like a husband, but very much like a teacher. _Her teacher, as he indeed was._

 _Oh gods, how did this come about? Everything was fine, just this morning!_

Xxxx

As she had entered the Great Hall at breakfast with Harry and Ron, they quickly became aware of whispers, muttering and people engaged in heated conversation all across the Hall, some seventh years crying. But they hadn't been worried before seeing that the teachers themselves were gathered around the Headmaster, many of them looking angry and scared, and the Headmaster himself – _oh, she had never seen Albus Dumbledore look so old, tired and so frail._

Uncertainly, they had sat down on their usual seats, and then the news hit them, blaring across the front page of the Daily Prophet.

 _Minister Scrimgeour declares Marriage Law to combat extinction. All witches and wizards past seventeen and underneath 60 years of age must marry and produce offspring. As from today, it's prohibited for Pure-bloods to marry each other, and all Muggleborns must marry a Pure-blood or a half-blood within three months…_

She felt herself become green, and she stared wide-eyed at Harry and Ron. Ron stared back at her, mouth hanging open, before he paled.

"Blimey, Hermione! You're seventeen, already!" he croaked out.

"I know," she said, feeling as she was walking on the edge of disaster.

"You have to marry within _three months_!"

"Yes," she said dumbly, but she thought: _Nonononononono_. _Ron won't be seventeen for four months._ Then it hit her, _Ron might not want to marry her at all. Maybe he'd prefer Lavender for the long run too._ _Hermione_ _wasn't exactly in love with him, but somehow, she had always expected to end up with Ron. Now, it was clearly not happening._

A flicker of grief for a dream gone wrong tore through her. She tried to swallow a sob, but still it came out as a low wail: "What should I do?"

Harry patted her back awkwardly, and Ron hugged her, both looking bewildered and sad. As she lifted her head, Dumbledore was staring right at her, like he had heard her muffled, little wail. He beckoned her to the Head table, and she shuffled forward, feeling more confused, lost and _cheated_ than ever before in her life.

When she approached, the Headmaster said kindly: "You find yourself in quite a predicament this morning, Miss Granger, along with all our seventh years and some of our staff. I would like to see you in my office right away."

"Yes, sir," she whispered quietly, as a wild hope blossomed in her chest. _Dumbledore would set it right. He would protect her from this farce of a law._ Hermione felt her curiosity piqued by the chance of seeing the Head's office for herself, but she only wished the occasion was different.

She spun, striding out of the Great Hall with a new spring in her steps, followed by the Headmaster himself and oddly enough, both Professors Snape and McGonagall. Her Head of House was so upset that her pointed hat sat all askew on her head, but Snape's robe billowed behind him like always, like a dark thundercloud.

Well inside the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore offered her a bowl of sweets, asking: "Lemon drops, my dear?"

From behind the Headmaster, she saw McGonagall shake her head and repeatedly mimed "No" at her, while Snape scowled at nothing in particular.

She shook her head, and said politely: "No thanks, Headmaster."

"Oh well, dear, you don't know what you're missing out. Severus – Minerva, can I tempt you?" Dumbledore said, offering the sweets to her teachers. Minerva declined with a sickly grin, while Snape just rolled his eyes with a curt "As always, the answer is _no_ , Albus."

As Dumbledore lowered himself gingerly into his chair, she peered eagerly around in the office. Those silvery whirring instruments that Harry had told her about was clearly visible, and she ached to examine them to find out just what they did. A fair amount of books made her nod approvingly, and the furniture was more or less as expected. Seeing Fawkes on his perch made her smile a little, and the bird sleepily opened an eye to acknowledge her interest.

"Please sit," the Headmaster gestured at Snape and McGonagall too. "You'll need it," he added drily.

Hermione furrowed her brow, and looked more closely at Dumbledore. _No, he did not look like a man who was happy with a solution. In fact, he seemed almost bitter and angry._

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, rubbing his eyes a little. "I'll have you know that the Order wasn't aware of the plans for this Marriage Law. It came as a complete surprise to me this morning, and it's forcing my hand."

Pursing his lips, looking speculatively at the dark, foreboding expression on Snape's face, the Headmaster continued: "I can only surmise that this was a top secret plan hatched inside the Ministry itself, possibly supported by Tom Riddle, though it goes against everything he stands for. However, this is a dire threat to the safety and secrecy of two of the most valuable members of the Order. Namely yourself, Miss Granger, and Professor Snape."

Snape made a jerky motion with his hand, head swiveling swiftly towards her and then back to the Headmaster, black eyes suddenly blazing. "Now hold on, Albus! If you're suggesting what I think, then you'd better back down immediately! It's out of the question!"

"Indeed," McGonagall added, pinching her lips as she narrowed her eyes at the Headmaster, crossing her arms, looking both determined and angry.

Hermione felt as if there was something she didn't quite grasp, but Dumbledore broke smoothly in: "As you unfortunately are aware of, Miss Granger, you're at great risk from the Death Eaters, sadly proven by the terrible attack on your parents."

Hermione felt her lip tremble. Her parents had been brutally Cruciated, and then left for dead in Muggle London just after the Hogwarts Express had left on 1th of September. _Her poor Mum and Dad, those sweet, innocent darlings, helpless before the wands of the Death Eaters. It felt like her heart was breaking anew every time she was reminded of them._ Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she refused to cry, looking steadfastly at the Headmaster.

He gave deep sigh, and said, his voice wavering a little: "Severus' position as an Order member and a Death Eater spy must not be compromised. It must be kept secret. That's why he has to marry within the Order, to ensure that no one on the outside learn of his role as a spy. It is vital to our chances of winning that Severus can keep his secrets. And there aren't all that many single witches in the Order to choose from."

As if from far away, she heard McGonagall suck the breath in between her teeth, and Snape banged his fist on the arm of his chair, leaning forward, lank hair swinging with the motion, his magic crackling dangerously around him.

Dumbledore warded off their attempts to interrupt with a wave of his hand, voice clearer and ringing with command: "I've decided to kill two birds with one stone. You, Miss Granger, will get a husband who'll be able to protect you against Death Eater attacks, and Severus will have a wife that are aware of his affiliations and his duty – one who even might raise his standing with Tom Riddle, lulling him into the belief that he can control Harry's friends too."

She squeezed her eyes shut. _Surely he didn't mean…_ Just like it didn't concern her, she heard Professor McGonagall shriek with outrage, and Professor Snape bellowed furiously in that deep voice of his. _No, no, nononononononono. It wasn't happening. It wasn't._ And then it was.

Xxxx

Dumbledore wasted no time, and by noon, he had summoned a wedding official and drawn up the necessary legal documents _._ The actual wedding was set to be at four pm, and Hermione had been allowed to invite Molly and Arthur Weasley as witnesses. She no longer needed a legal guardian, but they had been acting in her stead in those few days after her parents were killed and until she was of legal age in the wizarding world.

Hermione still felt as if everything happened to someone else. She was numb, unfocused, not feeling really grounded in her own body, her thoughts flowing slowly like they were stuck in a syrupy mass. Everyone seemed to move slowly, sluggishly around her, their words registering in her brain a tad too late.

"My dear," Mrs. Weasley almost sobbed, embracing her and clutching her into her ample bosom. "A marriage shouldn't be hurried and forced like this. It should be an occasion of joy and happiness. I just hope you and Severus find a way to be happy together."

Inside, she felt like sobbing herself, but on the outside, all she managed was a wooden grimace of a smile.

"Oh dear," Molly Weasley said after taking on look at her face, "it'll be alright, it'll work itself out, darling." She lowered her voice, whispering in her ear: "If you wonder about _anything,_ or have _any_ questions at all, not just for tonight, you can always ask. I'm sure you wonder about a lot of things right now."

Even in her strange, out-of-the-body- feeling, Hermione cringed. _To ask Ron's mother about sex, oh gods, that was just not something she'd ever do. Especially not about sex with a teacher._ She managed a stiff, polite smile, saying: "Thanks, I appreciate that."

Then Arthur Weasley drew her aside, saying earnestly, with a worried look in his blue eyes: "I believe Severus is a good man at the bottom, Hermione. But still, if there's ever anything you need help with, if he doesn't treat you well, don't hesitate to call on us. We'll gladly act in your parents stead to protect you, like you were our own daughter. It's not that easy for such a young witch as you to marry a wizard twenty years her senior, especially one as powerful, strong-willed and strict as Severus. Please, please, do tell if you need help or just a shoulder to cry on. As you know, a wizard gets a good amount of power over his wife during the marriage ceremony. Most men does _not_ take advantage of that, but some does. Please tell us if he ever makes you uncomfortable, Hermione!"

That almost got a reaction out of her. _Did the Weasleys have any reason to think Snape would molest her in some way? Didn't they trust him?_ She shuddered again as she sneaked a look on her glowering, angry husband-to-be, standing in a corner with Dumbledore, and she caught a little of their whispered conversation "With what I have to do, with what _you_ made me promise, Albus, this is utter madness. What should I do with the girl when… after…" Vaguely, she wondered what that was about, but her curiosity couldn't be piqued enough to listen in.

At the start of the ceremony, all she took in was Ron's blotched, angry face, Harry pale with worries, McGonagall's pained expression and the two older Weasleys holding hands with looks of frustration and concern on their faces. She didn't dare to look at Snape, though she was very much aware of him looming over her at her side.

The ceremony seemed to last forever, until Snape suddenly interrupted the official, saying: "I want to include a vow of fidelity."

Hurt and furious, she turned to glare at him. _Did the bastard believe she would be cheating on him, too?_

At that, the hard glower in his eyes softened a little, and he explained, a little haltingly: "Not for your sake, Miss Granger. For me. For what I might be…" his voice dropped to a silky whisper in her ear: "expected to do in _other_ circumstances."

She stared wide-eyed at him, before she blushed furiously, biting her lip. _Oh gods, did Voldemort make his followers shag each other? Or even worse, did he expect Snape to rape someone? Was her husband a rapist?_ Hermione gave a brief, jerky nod, and averted her eyes from his face again. _It felt safer to not meet his eyes._ Her mind shied away from the thoughts like a skittish horse, and her lips trembled as they gave their vows, a reddish bond with golden-flecked hues snaking around their wrists, sinking into their flesh.

Suddenly, time kickstarted itself again, speeding up into a fast, inevitable movement, the official said something about sealing the bond, and Professor Snape leaned down to press lips to hers. His lips were warm, dry and hard, like he was making sure that she wouldn't get an impression of him being anything resembling soft – _as if she ever would have thought that._

Xxxx

And now she was here, in his rooms, the wedding night looming larger and larger in her mind. _Would he hurt her? Would he be brutal and unfeeling? What if he really WAS a rapist?_ She wanted to whimper, to curl up, but instead she sat stiffly on her chair – and then she lost the grip on her book. It thumped onto the floor, the sound incredibly loud in the stillness of the dungeon room, causing Snape to look up from his magazine. Seeing her there made a grimace fly over his face, and then he said sourly: "It's time for bed." Cocking his head at her, black eyes unreadable, he said: "Undress."

At her shocked expression, he said impatiently: "Now, Miss Granger, not tomorrow. Let me have a look at you before we do … this."

Mortified, she stood up slowly, shaking hands unbuttoning her robes. Her shirt fell to the floor and her skirt followed, and there was still no sound from him. She stopped, not wanting to embarrass herself further, but irritation laced his voice as he continued: "Did I tell you to stop, Granger? Undress, I said!"

 _Does he think I'm cattle? A horse, where he can inspect the teeth before buying? Such a shame, then, he's already stuck with me!_ Defiantly, she stripped down, standing furious and blushing in front of him, holding one arm across her breasts and the other hand in front of her crotch. _Staring back at him, insolently, assessing him too._

Oh, she knew his looks well. Tall, thin, but with broad shoulders, shirt sleeves rolled up to show his thin, but muscular arms. Eyes dark, deep-set, nose too big with that impossible hook, mouth thin and hard, teeth crooked, cheeks sallow and pale. And that hair – did he ever wash it? Lank and greasy, though she supposed it wouldn't be half as bad if he bothered to wash it. _And oh sweet mother Morgana, did he wash other body parts?_ She almost blanched with disgust. A little relieved, she remembered that she had never thought him to smell bad in class. Quite the opposite, actually. He usually smelt good - _something spicy, a little leather, a whisky note, laudanum and mandarin…_

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and his eyes seemed to widen slightly as he let his gaze travel her body. _Leering_ , she rather thought. Mumbling to himself, she thought she heard him say: "Well, then, at least one thing in this farce won't be difficult." Then he cleared his throat, and instructed her: "Go inside the bedroom, and wait for me."

She put on a show of defiance, tossing her head and walking proudly towards the bedroom. On the inside, she felt like a small, cowering child, ready to cry at a moment's notice.

 _Gods, that bed._ It was gigantic, with carved, mahogany bedposts, predictably with a pattern of entwined snakes. The sheets were black too, and a heavy, ornamented dresser stood in a corner. Her trunk looked small and insignificant beside it. She wondered if he'd allow her to move her things out of the trunk and into the dresser, and a small sob escaped her. _She supposed she would be staying here for a long time._ The thought – _the rest of my life_ – flitted over her mind, and she felt like screaming, panic rising inside her.

Right now, she was facing the fact that her stern Professor would take her to bed, to shove his … _penis_ … inside her, exercising his full right to do so as her husband. Sourly, she promised herself to make an effort to change the wizarding world's marriage vows and that stupid Marriage Law, but as for now, she was bound by someone's antiquated idea of giving the wizard rights to do almost whatever he wanted to his witch.

She shuddered at the thought. _What would he do to her?_ Hermione were aware that other witches in her year, like Lavender and Parvati, had fancied Snape briefly, claiming that he had a sort of sexy darkness to him, but not her, not at all. Though there had been, she admitted to herself, one or two hot and inexplicable dreams about him, but that was about it. _She had never wanted the real thing._

The door slammed, making her jump, and he entered the bedroom, still scowling. _Thank Merlin, she was sitting demurely with her legs pressed together._ What she really wanted to do, was to stretch out on the bed, crying into the pillows. _Preferably alone._

Snape stood before her, tall and menacing, unbuttoning his shirt, and she just couldn't keep her eyes away, it was like they were glued to his form. The buttons felt like a countdown to something she didn't want to experience. _Twelve – eleven – ten – nine …_ Her heart fluttered in her chest, fearfully. _What would it be like?_

He finished unbuttoning, baring his chest. Snape was just as pale as she had imagined, with hard, pectoral muscles, and a smattering of black hair on his chest, tapering down into a distinct line disappearing into his trousers.

Shrugging off his shirt, he stopped, looking searchingly at her. "Granger," his deep voice oddly hesitant, "you've done this before, right?"

"What?" she said, blinking in surprise to the fact that he had addressed her. Then she blushed. "Oh, you mean… sex?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, shifting his stance slightly.

"Ah, well, no." she replied, looking down on the stone floor in embarrassment. Trying to distract herself from the overwhelming feeling of wanting to sink into the ground, she tried to memorize the pattern of the floor. The colour was a dark grey, like it was hewn from the Scottish mountains. _Grey, a mix of the black of his robes and the paleness of his skin,_ she thought whimsically.

He sighed with a sudden movement that made her look up. "Why me?" he muttered. Then he seemed to make an effort to compose himself, sitting down beside her, knees spread, twirling his wand between his fingers.

After a short while, he said: "Granger. It won't be comfortable for you, but I won't hurt you. It might get better with time, when we're more… acquainted with each other, and when you're not this nervous. But for tonight, let's just get this over and done with. I'll make it quick."

"Ok," she whispered, in a way relieved. _He said he won't hurt me. How bad can it be?_

He rose again, kicking off his boots, and pushing down his pants. Her jaw fell down, and she just stared. _This was not what she expected. That thing looked awfully big, and she really, really didn't want to… Ok, maybe she was a tiny bit curious, wondering how it would feel to touch it…_

He twitched in surprise, as she, without any conscious decision, reached out her hand, stroking him slightly. She once again felt like she was outside of her body, watching herself, feeling _horrified_ at the liberty she took – _her damned curiosity couldn't have found a worse time for rearing its ugly head!_

Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips as _it_ swelled and grew between her hands, rising up to stand erect. It was silky, so soft on the outside, and so hard, like it was an iron rod beneath the layer of soft skin. Snape's breath became faster, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Curious, eh?" he said, voice a little hoarse.

She nodded, still shocked by her own forwardness, her hand still touching that strange thing. _Curious, yes, but she realized her emotions bordered on a somewhat thrilled expectation_ , _too, coupled with nervousness_. His wand flew to his hand, and he whispered a spell at her: " _Lubricatem"_. She sucked in a breath, like she was suddenly back inside her body, feeling moisture pool quickly and unexpectedly between her legs. Snape moved forward, pushing her back on the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

She noted, his breath was now fast and uneven, and he murmured into her ear: "I'd never thought I'd stoop so low as to say this to a _student_ , but you look delicious, Granger. The Marriage Law might force us to couple once a week, but I tell you this, I'll avail myself of the opportunity to have a hot young witch in my bed. You better get used to this, Granger, because every night, I'll fuck you into the mattress."

Those last words came out as a growl, and she gasped a little at his coarseness, feeling a small lick of flame racing through her belly. Then he was _there,_ at her entrance, guiding himself with one hand.

That big, swollen, blunt head butted at her, lubricating itself in her moisture created by his spell. He thrust sharply with his hips, and she whimpered in pain in the same instant as he emitted a groan of pleasure. _Sweet Morgana, this was painful!_ She felt mind-boggled: _Merlin – her Professor, her husband, her teacher, her spouse was buried inside her to his balls._

Her walls were stretched out around him, and it _burned._ That burning feeling subsided slowly, and he held himself still, breath rasping as he held himself up on his arms, eyes closed with an expression of bliss.

Inside her, she could feel that hard, long part of him almost quiver, and he grunted: "I need to move, Granger, but I'll try to be careful."

Breathlessly, she nodded, and braced herself for more pain by tightening her muscles. His eyes widened, and he let out a shaky breath, laughing slightly as he said: "Gods, Granger, if you continue to do that, this will be over very soon. This feels _good_ for me."

She tried experimentally to clench her abdomen again, and he groaned torturously, hips thrusting against her as he slid his cock slowly in and out of her, picking up his pace as he went. His upper body came down, resting on her lightly, and he buried his head in her neck, kissing and nibbling at her. _It felt good, at least better than she had expected_ , she thought with some surprise, though there weren't any instant bliss like she had read about. His cock brushed against her sex, his pelvis moving over her clit, and she felt a pleasant tremor in her belly as she clenched around him again. Soon, Snape murmured incoherently against her as he slammed his cock into her, his long, black hair tickling her face: "Gods, so tight, so good, Granger, you feel so tight, your cunt squeezing, do it again, oh, I'll fuck you hard, little witch, OH!"

With a shudder, he stiffened and arched his back, thrusting harshly into her a few more times. His breath came in heaving gasps, and he rolled off her to his back, staring up into the ceiling. Something sticky dribbled out of her, and her inner voice gibbered in panic: _I'm full of Professors Snape's semen. He came inside me, Professor Snape had an orgasm inside me!_ Blushing, she realized that in eight hours or so, she would be sitting in his class, listening to him lecturing, with his sperm still swimming around inside her. _And the Slytherins would be laughing so hard._

Feeling mortified and foolishly shocked by the strange feeling of the runny substance between her legs – _though, what had she really expected, him coming inside her was a natural result of sex_ – Hermione rose quickly from the bed, causing even more of the sticky fluid to rush out of her. At the same time, she winced at the soreness between her legs. _Sweet mother_ _Morgana, she felt like her thighs had moved several inches apart from each other. Walking normally would be a challenge_ , she could tell. Silent and embarrassed, she hobbled towards the bathroom, hoping that she'd reach inside before it started to drip from her legs and onto the floor, making a mess out of everything. Turning in the doorway, she could see his dark eyes following her, a guarded, but also shame-filled expression on his face. The only thing she managed to think was: _This … is awkward_.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _The Marriage Law trope makes for very awkward situations. I wanted to write a forced, rushed wedding, without any unrealistic, mind-shattering sexual bliss on Hermione's part (really, she's young, inexperienced and partnered with someone she doesn't particularly like), and with an unwilling, but fairly responsible Severus. With this in mind, I tried to make the whole experience awkward, but not too bad, because I want to believe there could be happiness for those two later. And I killed off Hermione's parents to up the Death Eater threats to her life._

 _Please review!_


	2. Walk of Shame

_**A/N**_ : _Here's a second chapter to Awkward. I got so many request for a sequel for this one-shot, and a continuation has been brewing in my mind. This is Severus POV from the day after, and I warn you: It is still (very!) angsty and awkward, still a bit of dubcon, but I hope there are a few glimmers of hope for future affection in it too. Please remember when you're reading the chapter: this is Severus' interpretation of what Hermione does or says. It may – or may not – be wrong._

* * *

 _A Madam Snape. Such a witch shouldn't exist, and yet, here she was. In his bed, with a silky thigh slung over his morning wood, and a mass of soft curls tumbling over his chest._ Severus was not really sure if he had woken up in the greyish dawn with a woman nestling into his arms before, but the infinitesimal movements of her leg against his cock felt good. _Too good._ Shame burned through him. _How could he have lost it so completely yesterday?_ When Miss Granger had – shockingly – reached out her hand and caressed his cock, he had somehow managed to lull himself into the impossible fantasy of her _wanting_ him.

Afterwards, the pitiable sight of her staggering to the bathroom, trying to not spill his come on the floor, had robbed him of all illusions. _She had clearly detested it – and him. Soon, she'd wake up, and he would have to steel himself to her accusing look. Albus had meant for him to be her protector, and he had taken advantage of her in the basest way. He would have to do **better**. But first, he had to get through this day, and in the evening, he had to meet with the Dark Lord to inform him of the marriage. Hopefully, he would survive the night. _

Severus tried to breathe slowly through his nose, careful to not make any movements that might wake Miss Granger. He'd rather postpone that inevitable moment of hatred in her eyes. _Gods, she must think him a total lecher,_ he realized with a suppressed groan. First, he had asked her to undress in front of him, and later he had talked dirty to her while he fucked her. He tried to tell himself that his reason for commanding her to undress was completely legitimate, as he had been unsure if he could perform with her at all. She was so tiny, and he had dreaded her body being too scrawny. If she had been as under-developed as he had feared, he would have needed a solid cocktail of Lust potions to perform.

Swallowing, he could in this very moment _feel_ why that hadn't been necessary. Her soft breasts were pressed into his side, her left breast and nipple clearly visible to him. How was he to know her body was so deliciously curvy under those oversized uniform shirts and jumpers she seemed to prefer? _Though, he hadn't told her his reasoning – he had just demanded that she'd undress, while watching her like a leering pervert. No wonder she hated it._ This time, he groaned out loud.

The witch snuggled into him, stretched – and _winced._

"Sweet mother Morgana" she muttered, and it was beyond him to look away from her – _dreading her hatred, scorn and fear_ – as she lifted her eyes to his face. A very becoming blush spread over her cheeks, and as a response, his morning wood jerked slightly. Her eyes widened, and she hastily moved her leg away, with a breathy moan. _Way to go, Severus, scare your too-young wife into thinking you're an insatiable monster. You almost said as much to her yesterday,_ he thought bitterly, damning his propensity for dirty talking.

Instead, he said gruffly: "Good morning."

She sat up hastily in bed, clutching the covers to her beautiful tits, hiding them from his view. _Gods, he WAS a lecher._

"Eeerm, good morning, errr, _sir_ ," she said carefully, looking away from his face. The silence stretched, and then she wriggled towards the side of the bed, still trying to stay covered.

As she put her feet down on the floor, he heard a soft hiss, and she paused, before moving again, giving off a slight whimper. After a while, she said hesitantly: "Would you have any pain relievers, sir?"

Automatically, he started to say: "I'm not a walking apothecary, you can go to see Madam Pomfrey as any other student…"

She interrupted him in a soft voice, gesturing to her lower body: "I can't go and ask Madam Pomfrey to get a pain reliever for _this._ She'll believe that you, well…"

Shocked and mortified, he swallowed. _Merlin, was the girl protecting him? If she barely could walk from his attentions – if he was such a brute – she should be angry, wanting to tell everyone that he was a vicious rapist._

Gruffly, he settled for replying: "Naturally. Let me get you something." He walked towards the bathroom, with the uncomfortable feeling that she was staring at his bare arse. _Gods, she must have been embarrassed to no end when he asked her to undress yesterday. He really WAS a brute. And now, he had fucked his virginal wife so thoroughly that she could barely move. He was a bastard. A villain. A pervert worthy of being a true Death Eater._

Severus stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, staring at himself in shame for a long time before he opened the cupboard to get her a Pain Relieving potion. _Merlin, why had he, even for a second, let himself believe that a young witch like her had wanted him?_

As he came back, she automatically flinched as he came close to her, averting her eyes from his still half-erect cock. "Here it is," he said gruffly, "this should take care of any… pains." Feeling like a monster – _what if she thinks I regularly bring witches here to fuck until they can't walk? –_ he added to soften her reaction: "This is a brew I do for myself, it's stronger than the regular Infirmary stock."

"Thank you," she said softly, downing the vial. He knew the effect was immediate – _it had to be, to work against pains from the Cruciatus or other Dark curses_ – and sure enough, the girl brightened quickly.

She stood up, saying: "I'll have a shower now, if you don't mind."

Really, he _did_ mind, as this would make them late for breakfast, but for the moment, he found that he didn't want to deny her. _He had certainly done enough to her last night_ , he thought dejectedly.

Still his eyes widened, as she sashayed naked across his floor, and he couldn't keep his eyes off that luscious butt and her narrow waist. He swallowed, sitting down on his bed, drumming his fingers against his naked thighs, as he heard the shower running. _His wife, his young, nubile, hot wife, was taking a shower, a sexy, young woman who couldn't easily refuse his needs…_ He imagined droplets of water running down that fair skin, pooling underneath her breasts, his tongue licking the droplets off that clean, creamy skin… As he became aware of the fact that his right hand unconsciously was stroking his member, he quickly removed his hand. _Merlin, get a grip, man! You abused her last night to the point where she could barely walk! Quit your lecherous thoughts and shut down your dirty mind, Severus,_ he ordered himself sternly.

He was quite certain, that the Granger girl had gotten the worst deal out of this. Being a Muggle-born, he wasn't entirely sure if she knew wizarding marriages were for life, though he wouldn't put it past her to have devoured all the lawbooks the Hogwarts library could offer. For himself, Severus got a wife that he didn't particularly like, but still, he got a young, beautiful and intelligent witch. _She_ got a husband she dreaded, spy, her Professor, a Death Eater, an older, scarred wizard who were in love with another woman – _a_ _ghost_ _of his memory_ – to boot.

Self-recrimination hit him in nauseating waves for what he felt as a betrayal of Lily, because of the way he reacted to his young wife. And speaking of the wife, he had robbed her of the chance to be with anyone but himself. To include that Vow of Fidelity had been supremely selfish.

 _He'd gotten the idea from Lucius._ _After the Dark Lord's resurrection, Lucius had gathered everyone he knew into a rather lavish renewal of his wedding vows to Narcissa. Not many had heard of such a thing before, and Severus suspected Lucius had gotten the idea of a renewal wedding from **Muggles** , though he was at loss to explain how the Malfoys would know about something like that. _

Of course, there was a world of difference. Severus made the Vow of Fidelity to avoid being ordered to participate in the revels, while Lucius did this to avoid being ordered to have sex with Muggles. Severus scowled, as he remembered the Malfoy patriarch telling him confidentially over a glass of Firewhisky, that Lucius found it distasteful to "sully" himself by touching Muggles, while he would miss both having his consensual, carnal relations _and_ raping witches.

 _Sometimes_ , Severus wondered, _why he kept Lucius as a friend at all. The man was awful and incorrigible_.

 _But dear gods, a wife! What would he do with a wife, what would their everyday life be like?_ Probably something close to last night, with both reading in front of the fireplace before they went to bed, preferably shagging. It could be … _nice_ , perhaps? But then his imagination sprang to life, conjuring an image of Granger in his wing chair raising her hand, asking him questions, as if she was in his class. His shoulders sagged, as he once again was reminded by the fact that his wife was a sixth year _student_.

 _Time was ticking_. If she didn't come out of the bathroom very soon, he wouldn't have time to shower. After what they did last night, he wanted to. _He couldn't go all day smelling her on himself._ Severus sighed deeply. He hadn't really anticipated what a teenaged witch would do to his morning routine.

He rose decisively, and went into the bathroom, desperately trying to convince himself that it had nothing to do with the hope of seeing her naked again.

She WAS naked. And she jumped a mile high as he opened the door, looking scared.

Severus felt his heart sink into his stomach – _he had to be the worst sort of man, to make the girl look so frightened. He had tried to go gently, hadn't he? But obviously not enough, not by a far cry, judging from her reactions and her inability to move without a Pain Relieving potion._

"We're running late," he said with a sneer, hiding his dismay behind his usual disdain, and pressed past her in the cramped space to step into the shower.

"Oh," she piped up, "I didn't realize, I'll hurry up."

Giving her inconspicuous glances through the glass wall of the shower, he could see that she was busy slathering some kind of creamy potion on her legs. Her thoughts were loud enough for him to hear, without any conscious effort at Legilimency.

 _Morgana, sweet Circe, do I need to share my time in the bathroom with him? I suppose so, or else I have to get up very early. It's not that odd that married couples see each other naked in the bathroom, he probably expects it as a natural thing. Maybe even showering together…_

By that, he forcibly turned his attention away from her thoughts, not wanting to find out how she felt about taking a shower with him. Fantasies of her wet, naked body sprang to mind, and as he lathered himself with soap, he couldn't help noticing that she was now rubbing the potion onto her butt, moving on to her stomach, then her breasts. His cock jerked and his mouth ran dry as she rubbed the cream onto those delicious tits. _GET A GRIP, STOP LEERING!_ he roared silently to himself, facing the tiled wall instead, quickly washing, leaving his hair unattended and un-washed as usual.

He Summoned a towel to wrap around his waist before he excited the shower, almost running past her into the bedchamber. Thank Merlin, he managed to put his trousers on before she emerged, still naked and now smelling of roses.

He averted his eyes from her, and turned his mind to more practical matters.

"Miss Granger," he said, clearing his throat, giving off a sigh.

"Yes, sir?" she asked softly, as she started dressing herself. He waited for a few moments, and turned around. She had only managed to put on her panties, and was struggling with the clasp of her brassiere behind her back.

"Merlin, girl, are you a witch or not?" he snapped, feeling a rush of heat wash through him, irritated at his own body's obvious appraisal of her curves. With a wave of his wand, he dressed her into her school uniform, wincing slightly, the uniform pressing the point that his wife was a _student. Well, that was exactly the point of what he had planned to say, he needed to lay down some rules._

But the girl was wide-eyed, saying incredulously: "You… you… just _dressed_ me with magic?"

"Yes," he growled snapped, "as I said, we are running late!"

"Will you teach me that spell?" she said, eyes shining with that keen interest she always exhibited in class.

"I'm frankly amazed you haven't learned that yet," he grunted, before continuing: "From now on, you'll cease pestering me in class. I'll be … civil to you if you oblige, but it won't do to take points from my wife."

She stared at him, hurt and confused. "But sir, my grades…!"

"Will _not_ be affected by this. Dumbledore will grade your papers, by the way. I expect he'll be more lenient with you than I have been," he sneered. _He bloody well knew he had not always given her the grades she deserved, but Dumbledore would probably just mark anything with O's as it was. The girl would actually profit from this switch._

"But if I can't answer or ask questions…," she started, and Severus sighed.

"Gods, girl, you can ask me questions later, you realize that?" The uncomfortable image of her bouncing on the seat of his wing chair to ask him questions in their spare time came quickly to mind, and he moved on, ruthlessly: "Have you ever stopped to think that your friends and the rest of the class are just lazing about, knowing that you'll ask or answer every damned question? If you shut up, then they'll have to work harder."

"Oh." Her eyes became big and round, and he almost smiled to himself. _Clearly, Miss Know-it-all hadn't thought about **everything**._

She chewed on her lip, and then she nodded. "I'll restrain myself," she said, "but you can't go about calling me Miss Granger anymore. Then they'll laugh even more."

Severus felt himself blink. _Fuck, she was absolutely right._ Swallowing heavily, he replied hoarsely: "I know. From now on, I'll refer to you in public as Madam Snape. You, however, will still call me Professor or sir in public."

She looked down, blushing a little, _– blushing from the shame of carrying his name,_ he thought bitterly – and she said quietly, but with a tinge of hope in her voice: "Alright. Please, will you say Hermione in private?"

Hesitating for a moment, he said "yes," still feeling hoarse, like something was stuck in his throat. Her warm, brown eyes searched out his, and he tried to avert his gaze.

"Do I need to call you Professor or sir when no one is around, … sir?" she whispered.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he said gruffly: "No, you can call me Severus – though only in private, mark my words! I will not tolerate any familiarity from you in class."

"Of course, … Severus…," she said, nodding to him with a small smile.

"Let's go for breakfast," he said quickly, not wanting this conversation to continue. _Or else he might begin to believe that the girl actually didn't hate him._

Xxxx

They stopped right outside the Great Hall, him pulling her arm to make her stay still. The buzz from the inside told him that the Hall would be full of students, curious students at that, wanting to take a look at the ugly, greasy bat of the dungeons who had just married and fucked a student, one of _them_. He harboured no illusions of the marriage remaining a secret. _The rumour would have spread like wildfire._

Looking down at her, seeing mostly the top of her bushy, brown head, well below his shoulder level, he took a moment to ponder their situation. _It was obvious that students would call her out for the marriage, and some of his Slytherins would love to ridicule her, making her miserable, especially Draco. It wouldn't do to have the students showing his wife lack of respect. It would put him into a very uncomfortable position, being forced to defend his own wife from bullying from his own House._

In a spur of the moment, he decided to give her what protection and scraps of dignity he could salvage for her from this mess. Simultaneously, he realized that this would condemn himself in the eyes of everyone, excepting the Order – _though not even all of them would believe him innocent_. By acknowledging her and not distancing her from himself, everyone else would be convinced that he had initiated this sham of a marriage.

 _In the eyes of the world, he would be the lecherous, old teacher jumping at the first opportunity to marry and fuck his young top student._ He sighed, supposing that this only added to his reputation of darkness and evil. _Very well, he'd shoulder this new vilification too. In the long run, they would all be dead, hopefully the Dark Lord too, and nothing else mattered anyway._

Taking her arm, making her gaze up at him, he lifted an eyebrow at her. Wordlessly and wandlessly, he opened the great doors with an almighty crash, and she jumped beside him, shock marring her face. _Clearly, she hadn't expected them to enter together, in his usual fashion at that._

Striding forward, aiming for intimidating students with his glare, he kept her arm firmly tucked to his. He quickly realized that she almost had to run beside his long legs, and he slowed down to give her a more dignified entrée.

The buzz in the Hall stilled rapidly, and he rather thought he could hear his own heartbeats in the silence, their footsteps echoing down the middle of the Hall. Hundreds of eyes stared at them, like scandal-hungry, shark-like pinpoints of lights.

Putting his hand across the small of her back in a possessive gesture, he veered their path towards the Slytherin table, stopping at the top. He stared coolly at the mass of black-robed students, their ties making splashes of green amongst the unrelenting black, grey and white of their uniforms. After a second, he had the full attention of everyone, ignoring Granger's obvious distress beside him. Then he said, clipped and formally: "Slytherins, I would like you to meet Madam Snape. I expect all of you to treat her with the respect due to your Head of House's wife."

Students gawked at them, some looking shocked by his proclamation, some giggled with embarrassed grins, giving them furtive looks, while others looked flustered and irritated, Draco in particular. He nodded to them, and gave Granger a slight push at the back to move her along to stand directly in front of Draco. The boy glared at Granger, showing exactly how little he thought of her.

Severus said quietly, but in a dangerous tone: "Draco, I would like you to meet your new Godmother. I expect you to show her the same respect as you do to me, and I expect you to see to that the rest of our house does the same. Or else I will hold it to you." He gave the boy a meaningful, threatening stare.

Draco's eyes almost bugged out of his head, and his mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. Severus dipped his head to him, letting his gaze rest briefly on his left arm. _Oh, Draco knew very well what the displeasure of the Dark Lord's right hand man could signify. Severus knew the boy would never risk that._

The boy croaked in a strangled voice: "Of course, Godfather. I will take care of it, certainly." He turned to Granger, and made a poor effort in hiding his sneer as he said: "Congratulations, Granger."

"It's Madam Snape," Severus interrupted, his voice at its most silken and deadly. Draco paled, eyes flitting from Severus to Hermione, and slowly he nodded, at last showing his Pure-blood upbringing in polite society:

"Of course, Madam Snape, forgive me for my lapse. I guarantee it won't be repeated, and I hope I didn't insult you by my failure to address you properly, Madam."

"None taken," Hermione said, voice sounding strangled and breathless.

Once again, he took her arm as they turned from the Slytherin table. Oddly enough, he felt her shake beside him. He rolled his eyes, and wondered if his new wife was _that_ easily scared. _It wouldn't do, not at all._ Casting a glance at her, he could, to his surprise, see that she was trying to stifle a laugh, her face red with the effort. _Stupid Gryffindor, laughing in the face of a threatening situation._ Still, he felt his mouth tug slightly into a miniscule smile, _she couldn't be **that** intimidated by the marriage if she enjoyed putting down Draco, could she? _Deciding to let her off easy, he led her to the end of the House tables. Putting his hand on the small of her back again – _he felt like it belonged there, already –_ he leaned down to her, saying quietly in her ear, her hair tickling his mouth: "Go sit with your friends, Madam Snape."

He could clearly see that Albus had put aside a seat for her beside his own place, but he was quite sure that both the girl and himself would prefer to eat separately. She gave him a quick, grateful nod, still fighting her laughter, and he sent her off to the Gryffindor table with a light pressure by his hand.

Severus took his place at the Head table, and from the crook of his eyes, he saw Granger immediately swamped by her friends. They were obviously asking questions, but she shook her head firmly, and gave them a small smile. _He was rather happy with her choosing silence, as he didn't relish the thought of Potter and Weasley scowling at him. Their anger would be warranted, if they knew he had fucked her brutally on their wedding night._ The thought of him mistreating her – _even when he hadn't meant to_ – made his mood dip again, and he glared at the Gryffindor table.

Minerva leaned over, saying quietly: "That was decent of you, Severus."

He arched an eyebrow to her, answering: "I aim to surprise."

Minerva reddened visibly at his jibe, and said: "No, no, it wasn't meant like that. I mean it, you _are_ a decent man, and this was very thoughtful of you, giving her your protection like that. How did it go, last night?"

He turned fully to her, and said mockingly: "Really, Minerva, if I am a decent man, would I kiss and tell? Moreover, if you really believe I am decent, why do you feel the need to ask?"

"Oh, Severus, I worry about her, you know…," the Gryffindor Head gave him a small, tired smile.

"Yes, I know she's your favorite cub," he said curtly.

"And I worry about you too, Severus. I know you didn't want this." The concern in her eyes touched him, and he suddenly felt a burst of affection for his colleague.

He gave her one of his rare, small smiles, and said simply: "Thank you. Not everyone will see it like that." Furrowing his brow, he continued slowly, letting his gaze rest on Miss Granger – no, Madam Snape – _Hermione_ : "I think she's doing ok, at least as much as the situation allows for, but still..."

Xxxx

The staff meeting right after breakfast was in shambles. Those teachers affiliated with the Order kept quiet, staring at the floor, and Severus knew that Dumbledore had kept his promise of informing them, though they still seemed uncomfortable. But the others were in shock. Sybil Trelawney, Batsheda Babbling, Charity Burbage and Aurora Sinistra were yelling about the indecency of a teacher taking such advantage of a poor, young student, and the disastrous effect on Hogwarts' reputation.

"You couldn't even wait for a day after the law, could you, you lecherous swine?" Aurora shouted, dark anger in her normally calm, dark eyes. "And our best student, too! How long has this been going on, Severus?" Turning to Dumbledore, she asked dangerously: "And how could you allow something like this?"

"Yes," Charity shrieked on top of her voice, "he's a child molester, that's what he is! How long have you been grooming her, Severus? For years? Since her first year?"

Severus cocked his head at the Headmaster, wondering how he'd respond to this.

Slowly, the Headmaster said: "Severus is not to blame for this. You all know that Tom Riddle targets Miss Granger, and with this Marriage law, she's even more in danger. What if Riddle had influenced the Ministry to set up Granger in marriage to a Death Eater? Since Severus was in the same predicament as Miss Granger, I suggested that the two of them married. Severus can keep Miss Granger safe. Luckily, none of them had objections."

Severus met Minerva's eyes, and by her small shake of her head, he knew she agreed. _It was preposterous to suggest that Granger and himself had agreed to marry out of free will. No one would believe it – or rather, no one would believe **she** had married him voluntarily. The old goat was out of his depths. _Sure enough, the meeting went downhill from there.

Xxxx

He was returning to his chambers after meeting the Dark Lord, having stopped in Dumbledore's office to report. He walked slowly, not looking forward to find his quarters occupied by _her._ The day had felt like a week, full of wide-eyed students whispering as soon as he was in sight, and his classes had been full of furtive glances, the silence loud in his ears, while whispers broke out as soon as they had crossed the doorstep into the corridor.

The first class of the morning, with _her,_ had been especially awkward. She had been sitting primly and quiet, taking notes, and the eyes of the entire class, including her idiotic friends, had flitted back and forth between them, making a note of her silence. After class, he had heard Miss Parkinson exclaim in the corridor that he had "tamed the Know-it-all during the night," and Goyle had made a lewd remark on how he had shut her mouth, forcing him to dock point from his own house.

He had said, angrily, to his Slytherins milling about outside his classroom: "Do not make me dock points from our House again. Keep a respectful tone when you're talking about my wife." They all became dead quiet, looking with astonishment at their furious Head of House, who almost _never_ took points from them in public – though how he punished them behind closed doors were _quite_ another matter. This was an exception, and he could see in the eyes of the students, this strengthened his command to be civil to his wife. _Yes, the rumour would spread._

Goyle had said, shock in his eyes: "Yes sir, absolutely, sir!", and Severus had swept away, barging through the crowd of sixth years on their way to the next class, but not before he saw a quick, grateful smile on Miss Granger's face.

The only good part of the day had been the Dark Lord buying his story hook, line and sinker. He had been in a very good mood, due to a successful experiment. Gleefully, he told Severus of his modified Legilimens – the _Legilimensa Connectere_ , giving him the ability to open a connection to any mind he previously had invaded. Severus had rejoiced with appropriate admiration hiding his secret dread, and when he reported his marriage, the reptilian face had lit up in a cruel smile. The Dark Lord relished the possibilities of Severus turning his new wife to spying on Potter, forcing her obedience or even, with time, turning her to their side:

" _A spy in Gryffindor, how very fortunate for our cause. It will be good for you to have a wife, Severus, even though she's a Mudblood." his Lord said, red eyes amused and cold, shining eerily in the perpetual gloom that now immersed the entire Malfoy Manor. "You can let off some … steam at home, releasing the tension, as they say, when you bend her into submission. She's young and pretty, isn't she?"_

 _Severus swallowed, and said: "Yes, my Lord, she's been quite satisfactory." His voice reverberated hollowly in the large, mostly empty room._

 _"Good, good," the Dark Lord laughed, leaning back in his black, throne-like, ornate chair. He twirled his wand around his fingers lazily, and a wicked glint lit up in his eyes. Severus felt cold dread pooling in his stomach – what now?_

 _The madman said: "You should bring her to a revel. I'm sure your brethren would enjoy her too." He shifted on his chair, rearranging the folds of his black cloak in his lap, and Severus almost shuddered._

 _As an answer, he exclaimed "My Lord!", pulse thrumming in a vein on his neck, his Occlumency shields straining by the strength of his panic. "She's my wife, I will not share her with anyone. She'll be the mother of my children, and I won't have any questions of bastards hanging over my head. Besides, I do not like to share, we took a Vow of Fidelity."_

 _"There's that," the Dark Lord conceded, musing. "I see your point, and I'll allow you to keep her for yourself. It's about high time you produce an heir, Severus. As one of my most useful Death Eaters, you should procreate to ensure that your family will follow me throughout the centuries. I hear she's a strong witch, and I want you to put some effort into tracing her genealogy. There must be a witch or a wizard somewhere in her family line."_

 _"Yes, My Lord," Severus said, swallowing heavily. The referral to inherited traits was merely another proof that the Dark Lord didn't buy into his own, harebrained ideology of Muggleborns stealing magic, making magical children into Squibs._

 _"Yes, indeed. Get your young wife pregnant soon, and spare no effort to make it happen! When she's busy rearing your children, she won't have time for stirring up trouble. And when you're done breeding, you can bring her to a revel. I'll even honour you by sharing her with you. If you participate too, it nullifies the Vow you made," The Dark Lord chuckled, showing off his discoloured teeth._

Xxxx

He stopped outside his door, staring at the portrait of the beautiful Morgana. She gave him a seductive wink as usual, and said, voice surprisingly deep and sensuous: "Your new wife is inside, Severus. Will you not go to her?"

He gave the portrait a perfunctory nod, and said curtly: "I will – in a while." His face folded itself into his usual scowl, as he stood still. _His quarters – his sanctuary – didn't belong to him anymore. The place where he could be alone, be himself, without a mask for the Dark Lord, the Slytherins and the damned Headmaster with his twinkling manipulations, was invaded, and he didn't know what to do about it._

"Ah, but it won't do to let your Slytherins see you loitering outside your quarters, will it? What would they think, their Head of House being afraid of his own wife?" the seductive portrait said, arching a dark eyebrow, while running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

Severus sighed, the guardian of his chambers was right as always. "Blatta Pulvereus", he said, and Morgana disappeared in a screen of black smoke, which he stepped through.

Inside, everything was quiet. He walked slowly through the dark hall to the light emanating from his living room, wondering what the girl was up to, hoping she already had gone to sleep.

Entering, he immediately exclaimed angrily: "What the hell, Granger?" She had pulled out at least twenty of his books laying haphazardly in a circle around her. Herself, she was sprawled on her stomach on the floor, on top of a sheepskin rug – _whenever had such a thing entered his household?_

He swallowed. _The girl was wearing tight sleeping shorts, hugging her arse, and a soft, fitted sweater._ His treacherous cock twitched, as fantasies of her – _unclothed, laying exactly like this beneath him as he pounded into her from behind –_ flooded his mind. Retreating behind his wall of anger and glares seemed to be the safest path, but as she half turned against him, he couldn't help eyeing the nipple visible through the fabric.

" _Hermione,"_ she corrected him, "we agreed on first names." Then her brow furrowed. "Is there something wrong with me reading your books?"

"How about returning them to their shelves when you've read them? Not heaping them on the floor like so much rubbish?" he said, scowling at her, conveniently overhearing her correction.

She rolled around to lie on her back, exposing barely covered chest to him – _and gods, his cock did NOT stand to full attention by the sight –_ and said innocently: "But I _am_ using all of them to write my assignment."

"Right," he snorted derisively, "no wonder you never seem to keep within the limits I set."

Chortling a little, she replied: "Well, now you won't have to read them. Now, you only get to see me write them."

He glowered at her, and said: "Well, are you done? It's late."

The sudden look of apprehension crossing her face tore into him viciously, making him feel his shame tenfold. _You failed in protecting her, you used her brutally instead._

Hurriedly, he said: "I need to tell you something."

The relief that made her breasts jiggle as she exhaled deeply, _hurt._ He couldn't explain why it would, because he had no expectations for his new wife to like him, much less wanting to bed him.

She stood up quickly, and he felt a faint brush of her magic as she returned the books to their shelves wandlessly and wordlessly. He arched an eyebrow at her, slightly impressed, and she beamed at him, clearly proud of herself, and just as clearly begging for his approval. _Little show-off,_ he thought, but now, after seeing her fright, he found himself unable to deny her. Grudgingly, he said: "Well done, your wandless and wordless magic is coming along nicely."

The _stars_ in her eyes at his praise hurt just as much. _Merlin, I can never be a husband in her eyes, I'll always be her teacher._ Back to his scowling, he said: "Sit," pointing at the wing chairs.

Obediently, she sat down, drawing her knees up to her chin, and folding her hands around her legs.

"I visited the Dark Lord today, to report our marriage," he said. She listened attentively, just like in class. "And he was pleased."

"Why is that, sir?" she said, and he almost winced. _He was right, she even forgot to say his name, addressing him like a teacher, even though she was the one who had asked to be on a first name basis._

"Sorry," she reddened, "I mean, Severus,".

He cleared his throat. "Right, well. Consider this, the Dark Lord was in a very good mood tonight, we got off lucky. He…" Severus looked at her speculatively – _how would she take the news? –_ and continued: "… he ordered me to produce heirs. Soon."

She shrugged, and said: "Wasn't that the whole point about the Law?"

Taken aback at her casual stance, he said slowly: "Well, yes. The difference is, the Law can be thwarted, things can be postponed, while the Dark Lord can not. With a direct order, I must obey, or else the consequences are dire. With only the Law to worry about, we could have avoided intercourse during those days during a month when you are most fertile, hoping for the best."

She nodded, looking back at him with a grave expression. "I've always wanted children," she said, "but never so young as I am now. During this day, I've realized that the choice of timing is not mine to make, and I have to live with that, along with numerous other witches and wizards. What I want to know, Severus, is how _you_ feel about children?"

He barked a short laugh, making her jump. Leaning forward with his elbow on his knee, he put his head in his hand, scratching his scalp. "I have no idea," he admitted, more candidly than he wanted to. Suddenly, it all rushed out of him, making him _horrified_ by his lack of restraint: "I find it hard enough to come to terms with having a wife, I haven't even given a thought to _children_."

She laughed softly, eyes glittering at him. "I can see that. Your day must have been strange, with everyone looking at you and wondering about us. My day certainly was, but I guess it would have been far worse if you hadn't reined in the Slytherins."

Leaning his head back into the chair, he said to the ceiling: "You have no idea. Apart from the gawking dunderheads, I was accused of being a child molester in the staff meeting, I got three owls from the Board of Governors, signaling an investigation into our prior relations, and the Dark Lord told me he wanted to fuck you."

"What?" she shrieked, standing on the floor, hair bristling.

Realizing his mistake quickly, he rushed to ease her fears: "No, don't worry, he wanted me to bring you to a revel, but agreed to wait until we had finished "breeding", as he coined it."

"But," she gasped, "what if he changes his mind? What if he wants to do it anyway? You would have to comply, don't you, to keep your cover?" The girl was shivering, and Severus berated himself for being so stupid.

"We have to get rid of him sooner rather than later, then," he said more callously than he felt. She was still close to panic, and hesitantly, he reached out a hand to touch her arm. A tremor went through her, and he could see she forced herself to stay still, to _tolerate_ his touch. He grimaced – _that's how little she wants to touch me, is it?_ More cruelly than he had intended, he spat out: "Pray, tell me, when is the next time you ovulate?"

The girl stilled, and then she fidgeted, looking down at the stone floor.

"Well?" he asked, impatiently.

"Umm, well, today or tomorrow."

"Ah," he responded, looking away, feeling a curious mix of lust and apprehension. _She doesn't want you_ , a part of him whispered, while another part rejoiced: " _I can have her right now!"_ He tried to tell himself that he only wanted to fulfill his duty, even _Dumbledore_ agreed that it would be better to follow the Dark Lord's command, instead of needlessly aggravate him. _That could have disastrous effects, such as him being ordered to actually bring her to a revel, making her go through the horrifying experience of having a threesome with himself and the Dark Lord._ But it was no use. He knew the truth, he wanted to fuck the girl again. And again, and _again_. And for this, he was doomed. _A lecherous, old man, lusting after a teenaged girl – he was just as bad as everyone thought._

His face darkened with his shame, remorse and anger – _directed at himself_ – and he said curtly: "Go and get ready, I'll be with you shortly."

She stared at the stone floor despondently, and whispered a soft "yes," as she turned around. He heard her enter the bathroom, and a muffled wail reached him, before the sound was cut off, accompanied by a tingle from her magic. _Gods, she just Silenced the bathroom to cry on her own. He was a bastard. A thrice-damned monster. He **would** have to do **better** than this. _

Staring at the floor, lost in self-recriminations, he barely heard her exit the bathroom, but the slight rustle of her settling underneath the bedclothes spurred him to action. Heavily, he got up, and entered the bedroom. His _wife_ was clutching the duvet to her chest, her shoulders were bare, and her eyes were big, brown pools of worry.

Severus sat down on the bed, tugging off his boots, before undressing. Sitting still for a moment, naked, he turned to creep under the covers with her. He settled beside her, looking down at the top of her head. Clearing his throat, he said as gently as he possibly could: "About what the Dark Lord said, I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Never mind," she replied drily, "I prefer to know the truth anyway, except this was … not something I would have expected. In fact, far worse."

Nervously, he decided to give her options for what they were about to do. _Maybe that would make her feel better. He really didn't want to feel like a rapist in his own bedroom._

"Would you prefer to try something else today, or would you prefer it like last night?"

Her answer came fast, rushed, and she said: "What's something else?"

He noticed a faint flush creeping down her throat towards her breasts, and he was ashamed to admit he was _fascinated._ "Well, I could try to arouse you."

The quick glance she gave him was incredulous, like he had said the most unimaginable thing.

It made him angry and hurt, but he gritted his teeth. He instructed himself: _Do. Not. Fly. Off. The. Handle! After all, you're the adult here, the one with the power._

Resorting to his teaching mode, he lectured: "As you probably are aware of, Granger, your body reacts to the _Lubricatem_ spell by producing fluids. However, it doesn't make you ready for penetration. Part of the reason for your soreness this morning, was the fact that your … vagina … wasn't prepared, you weren't aroused. That's why natural arousal works better than the spell."

"Oh," she said, and he almost smiled by the fascinated expression in _her_ eyes. _She's such a_ _little swot,_ he thought to himself with amusement, and the thought registered oddly enough as _fond._

Then again, she corrected him: "It's Hermione."

"Hermione," he responded, this time nodding in acquiescence.

Silence fell, and then she said hesitantly: "It wasn't so bad, after a while, last night. Maybe you should try to … arouse me."

His relief was immediate and immense, and he murmured: "I thought I was too rough on you."

She shrugged, and said: "I wouldn't know. I haven't got any experiences in comparison."

Again, he winced, thinking of the Fidelity Vow, but instead of saying something, he turned off the lights, plummeting the room into darkness. Slowly, their eyes adjusted to the faint, grey light from the lake window, their bodies standing out as grey shadows against the black of his bedsheets.

Roughly, he pushed her down into the pillows, and he positioned himself on his side, leaving an arm free to roam her body. He slipped his hand underneath the covers, and trailed it over her chest, finding her nipple. Pinching it lightly, he tickled the little peak, as he kissed her shoulder, working up to her neck. Her curls tickled his face, and he swept them away to get better access. She shivered slightly, but he couldn't tell if she enjoyed it or if she was disgusted. Slowly, he teased her, getting a raise out of her nipple, before moving his hand to cup her other breast. _Oh, her tits were a nice handful, fitting into his palm perfectly._

He let go of her neck to kiss and lick the breast closest to him, and by that, he got a gasp from her, and her back arched slightly from the mattress. His cock jerked wildly in expectation, but he forced himself to concentrate on her.

After a while, he moved his hand down to her stomach, rubbing in slow circles until it met her mons. Still only stroking lightly, he suckled her nipple, his excitement growing and his breathing becoming faster. _He was close to touching her cunt, and yes, this had the desired effect. He could, with his much better than average olfactory senses, smell her arousal._ Daring to cup her sex, he was rewarded with a hitched breath from the girl. His finger traced her slit, and her breathing became faster, as his fingertip became slick and wet between her folds.

Suddenly, she sat up in bed, closing her legs to his hand, looking uncomfortable, saying with awkward embarrassment: "Please, do it now. I think it worked."

Surprised, he said: "Are you sure you don't want me to continue?"

"Yes," she said with determination, and a fierce nod of her head.

He blinked in the gray half-light, and then he understood. _She didn't really want to be aroused by him, his wife didn't want to let herself **come** for him. She probably wanted someone else, like Weasley, not him. Severus would be a replacement tool at the best, at the worst, a dreaded nuisance, an unwanted necessity. _Stung, he said: "Maybe it's best if we do it from behind. That way, we don't have to see each other."

She bit her lip, looking down, and then she nodded. "What do I do?" she said.

"On your hands and knees," he instructed, and she obeyed, scrambling up on all fours. He positioned himself behind her, grabbing hold of her hips before lining up his cock. This time, the lubrication was all her, smelling so good, and he rubbed it onto his cock, before thrusting into her. She gasped, and he groaned in ecstasy. _Gods, she was so tight, and now she was wet, wet from HIS foreplay, though she didn't want him._ Going a little rougher than he had planned to, taking out his bitterness through his thrusts, he pounded into her, his cock aching and throbbing.

He couldn't help himself, he snaked a hand underneath her belly and rubbed her slit, even though she had told him not to.

"No, please don't," she whispered, trying to bat his hand away with one of her own, resulting in her losing her balance, falling forward on her face. He grunted, following her down, lying on top of her, still pumping into her tight sheath.

His hand had become trapped between her legs, and he continued to touch her, _because she was so wet, so delicious._ Then he made contact with her little nub, and she twitched around his cock.

Groaning, he mumbled into her neck: "You're so wet for me, for _me,_ Hermione, I love the feel of your slick cunt, your swollen clit, can you feel it throbbing? Merlin, you're so tight around my cock, it feels so good."

She made a muffled sound of protest into the pillow, but a slight tremor through her pussy told him otherwise. The affirmation of her arousal was too much for him, and he exploded into her, thrusting madly through his orgasm, pulsing with spurts of his seed deep inside her.

Severus pulled back, groaning, feeling sweat trickle down his chest and back. She lay still, stiffly, for a while, and then she rose, tiptoeing with thighs clenched together towards the bathroom again.

 _Good job, Severus_ , he thought with remorse as his wife, his _student_ closed the bathroom door without looking at him or saying anything. _You have failed as her protector, by doing the very thing everyone would accuse you of._ _You did everything you swore to yourself you wouldn't do this morning: Lusting after her, fucking her more roughly than last night and touching her in a way she specifically didn't want – just to top it off._ He just knew he wouldn't be able to meet her eyes tomorrow morning, nor the eyes of Albus or Minerva. He didn't deserve their trust and friendship. _His shame was overwhelming._

* * *

 ** _A/N_ : **_Ouch. It didn't get any better, did it? Well, this was the day after their unwanted marriage – realistically, I think it would take a long time before we're talking roses. Still, it may not be as bad as Severus thinks it is, though he certainly went past a limit._

 _As for continuation, this chapter literally swelled in the telling – it was an angsty blast writing it. Still, it might end as a two-shot, because a full story arch exploring and resolving everything – well, let's say, I'm not there, yet. I really, really haven't got a clue where it would or could end. For now, I'll still mark it as complete two-shot, because it still fits with the title "Awkward"._


	3. From Awkward to Awful

_**A/N:**_ _Thanks for following, favoriting and reviewing – and for motivating me to write more on this!_

 _Warning: Strong dubcon, bordering on noncon._

* * *

She woke early, nestled into the hot, hard body of her husband. Almost flushing with embarrassment, she removed her leg from his hips to escape his silky, smooth, rock-hard cock, throbbing slightly against her leg. _She wasn't stupid, she was aware that this was a perfectly normal thing for a man. Still, it made her uneasy, wondering if he would make good on his promise to have sex with her every night._ Untangling herself as gently as possible from his long limbs, she tried to avoid waking the still sleeping wizard.

Making it into the bathroom silent and successfully, she stepped into the shower, turning on the water. _His bathroom was nice, really, though a bit on the small side_. The floor was the same, grey slate as the rest of the rooms, and the walls were a lighter shade of grey tiles. Gently glowing orbs floated near the high ceiling, casting a soft, warm light down on the warm, honeyed oak of the furniture. Everything was immaculately clean, with a blindingly white porcelain sink and toilet, and the glass doors of the shower were a squeaky clean see-through. _The cleanliness was obviously thanks to the House-elves_ , she thought wryly, before deciding she could allow herself to enjoy it, even though she still couldn't condone House Elf enslavement.

But it _was_ small. Especially when they were both in it. The flush came back tenfold with the thought of showering with him. _Gods, last night had left her mortified. Professor Snape, touching her so intimately, making her body react with pleasure like that, it was virtually unbelieveable. She would never be able to look him in the eyes._ Sighing, she finished her shower, toweling herself dry, before starting on her morning routine.

Sneaking out into the bedroom, she managed to dress herself quietly, wondering if he would teach her that nifty dressing spell of his anytime soon. She could see his black hair spread on the pillow, and he was now sleeping on his side, giving her a full view of his profile. _Gods, that nose **was** large. She hoped fervently that any child between them would inherit her nose. It felt ridiculous, to think of "Snape" and "their child" in the same sentence. _

As she put on her boots, she speculated how many times they would have to do it before she got pregnant. Brows furrowing, she suddenly wondered if the Ministry requirement of sex once a week applied during pregnancy too. Logically, it shouldn't, but then again, she supposed that this law was conceived by old, horny wizards, drooling for sex with young fertile witches. _Somehow, she was sure that they would find themselves having sex every week, pregnancy notwithstanding._ Letting herself out from his rooms – she supposed, they were _hers_ too, now – she winced, again thinking of his statement from their first that that he wanted to do it every night. It made her _shudder_ , but she wasn't sure if it was with pleasure or disgust.

Walking briskly through the empty corridors and stairs of the dungeon towards the Great Hall, she shivered in the cold of the early morning. Even though it was barely six a.m., she longed for a cup of scalding hot tea and something warm to eat. She knew breakfast would be ready, because _Hogwarts: A History_ clearly stated that breakfast service was not determined by the time, it was determined by need, and she _definitively_ felt the need. Entering through the great doors silently, she noted the Hall was almost empty, only a few Ravenclaws with their noses buried in books were present.

Sinking down on the Gryffindor bench, she decided to have porridge with her morning tea. The ceiling was cloudy today, big, puffy, grey clouds that spoke of snow to come. The Head table was still empty, and she felt thankful that her husband – _the word still felt strange and unfamiliar_ – had allowed her to sit with her friends yesterday.

She giggled softly to herself, remembering the gleeful look on Harry's face when they realized that she was Draco _sodding_ Malfoy's Godmother. They had all laughed at that, hiding their uneasiness and worry beneath laughter.

Her smile faltered, as she remembered finding out later in the day that she was blocked from the Gryffindor Common room:

 _"I'm sorry," the Fat Lady said, "only inhabitants of the Tower and faculty are allowed to enter." The Fat Lady had given her an apologetic smile, but there was nothing the portrait could do._

 _"This will cause problems," Harry said with a bewildered look. "Where can we meet, or are we unable to see you after dinner?" Slowly, they started walking aimlessly through the corridors._

 _Deep in thoughts, she said: "I can't just invite you to his quarters, not without telling him, at least. I imagine he'll be pissed off."_

 _Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry said, reasonably: "You live there too, he can't just up and decide everything for himself. You have the right to have visitors in your home."_

 _She nodded in agreement, while Ron looked at them both with something akin to pity in his eyes._

 _"Eerrm, Hermione," he began slowly, blue eyes both sad and fearful. "Actually, you don't, not if he doesn't say so."_

 _She stared at him in disbelief. "What do you mean?"_

 _"I know Dad told you, but the wedding vows gives him the right to decide a lot for you, especially things about your home." Seeing both hers and Harry's shock, he rushed to explain: "Sometimes, I forget the two of you grew up among Muggles. It goes like this: He can't randomly decide things like what you should wear or eat, but he has the right to decide where you'll live, who is welcome in your home, what you should vote if you are on the Wizengamot and things like that. And oh, what to do with your money."_

 _She spluttered, feeling like she was trapped in a stupid book from the nineteenth century, where women were totally dependent on a man for anything and everything. Slowly, a mix of despair and anger simmered in her._

 _Harry sighed: "Sometimes, I wonder what century the Wizarding world belong in." Shaking his head, he said: "At least, when this stupid law is repealed, you can get a divorce."_

 _Ron winced, saying: "Well, no. The thing is, you can't get a divorce." Turning to Hermione, he said anxiously: "You knew that already, right?"_

 _Harry looked astounded, but Hermione said darkly: "I knew it was so, but I'm not about to accept it. This is so old-fashioned, it's unbelievable. It has to change."_

 _Still uneasy, Ron said: "This is very old magic, Hermione. While I think you can change into new vows if you made a new marriage ceremony, I wouldn't be so sure about changing those who already are in effect. They are supposed to be indestructible, you know, at least, that's what everyone says."_

 _They walked in silence for a while, their feet slowly taking them towards the Library. Stopping just outside the heavy, carved oaken doors, Harry tried to lighten the mood, saying: "Oh well, then it'll be Friday night at the Snape's for the rest of our lives. I hope he's a good cook." Ron looked incredulously at Harry, and Hermione started giggling. They all laughed, but somehow, their desperation shone through the merriment._

Spooning up the rest of her breakfast porridge, wishing there were more raisins in the mix, Hermione realized she had no idea if Snape – _Severus_ – had a house outside Hogwarts. _Did he live here full-time?_ Sighing dolefully, she wished she hadn't been so hasty in selling her parents' house. The Weasleys had advised her to sell it, because it would be sensible to save the money to buy a house in a wizarding village or city enclave later. She had quickly agreed, because at that time, even thinking of her parents _hurt_ so much. It still did, and she willed herself not to cry. _Oh, how she regretted that sale! It would have been such a comfort to be back in her childhood home, safe, in a place reminding her of them._ Well, she couldn't really blame the Weasleys, they had only tried to help her as best they could.

Her bowl disappeared as soon as her porridge was eaten, and she was nursing her second cup of strong, black tea, when her husband entered. He stalked up to her, black robes billowing behind him, and whispered in her ear, long black hair tickling her cheek: "Good morning, Madam Snape."

"Good morning, sir", she said, not meeting his eyes, fighting a blush. Luckily, he moved on, not calling her out on her wanton behavior from the night before, though she supposed he'd never do something like that in public. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him taking his tea black, helping himself to three rashers of bacon, two eggs and a toast, liberally slathered in butter. Like an afterthought, he added slivers of fried tomatoes, but wrinkled his nose in distaste as Professor McGonagall passed him a tray of black pudding, passing it quickly on to Professor Sprout.

Flapping noises made her look up, and the first owls were soaring into the Great Hall to deliver the post, a flurry of brown, white and black feathers churning the air. The _Daily Prophet_ dumped down on her plate, and the owl nipped the knut she held ready in her hand in-flight, before flapping its great wings towards the ceiling.

She heard _him_ before she had time to process the headline. "FUCK!" he roared, slamming his fist into the table, making the few early risers in the Hall jump in shock.

" ** _WHO TRICKED WHO – OR DO THEY DESERVE ONE ANOTHER?_** "

Underneath, it was pictures of _them_. She supposed, there wasn't a picture in existence with the two of them in it – _yet._ In his picture, Snape was scowling as usual, arms crossed over his broad chest. She, on the other hand, was looking shifty-eyed, nibbling at her lip nervously. Frowning, she read on:

 _The notorious glory-seeker of Gryffindor, the Muggle-born Hermione Granger (17), has set her sights far above her years. Not satisfied with her portfolio of lovers, including the Boy Who Lived and Quidditch star Victor Krum, she's taken a darker turn with her surprising marriage to her Hogwarts Professor, none other than the second most feared man in Britain, the man who single-handedly has made students wet themselves in bed for years and makes adults freeze when they hear the word "Potions", namely Severus Snape (36)._

 _One can only speculate that Granger, being one of Harry Potter's closest friends, has seen fit to attach herself to the wizard rumoured to be on good terms with You-Know-Who to ensure her own survival. Maybe the devious girl knows something about the chances for Potter to win – or lose – that the rest of us are not aware of? Still, she is barely seventeen years old. The young girl may have bitten off more than she can chew by marrying the formidable, dark wizard._

 _Snape was openly a supporter of You-Know-Who before his fall, and whispers tells us that he once again dabbles in darkness. He is rumoured to be the third, strongest wizard in Britain, barring only You-Know-Who and Albus Dumbledore himself. After all those years at Hogwarts, staring at adolescent, pretty schoolgirls, one can almost understand his desire for finally taking a student into his bed. The Marriage Law may be a blessing for a man suppressing his needs through all those lonely detentions with sweet, young, innocent girls in his cold, soundproof, desolate dungeon rooms. But is Hermione Granger prepared to fulfill all the dark desires of her husband, senior to her by a staggering twenty years?_

 _One can only wonder, if these two, the power-hungry Granger and the dark, dreadful bat of the dungeons, does deserve one another._

Hermione let out a big breath, and lifted her head to meet Snape's – _no, her husband's_ eyes _._ He looked livid, while McGonagall was talking rapidly to him, obviously trying to cool him down.

 _Well,_ she shrugged to herself, _I'll write Skeeter to remind her of what I know about her. And if not…_ Hermione found herself _smiling_ grimly.

Xxxx

Before the Defense class, the seventh years that exited the classroom cautioned the sixth year class waiting in the corridor: "He's crazy. We've never seen him so angry. No matter what you do, don't offer up anything voluntarily. He'll snap your head off and dock points like never before," Katie Bell whispered to them as she passed.

All the sixth years were standing still, and Hermione realized that everyone, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, were staring at _her_ with expectation. Sighing, she rolled her eyes, _like she could fix this?_ She supposed, at least they thought he wouldn't kill her on sight. She wished she had been as sure of that as they were. Walking up to the door, she entered, feigning indifference.

The classroom was empty, like she had known it would be – _seriously, did no one pay attention? Snape always entered after the class had arrived!_

Harry and Ron followed her staunchly, both casting worried looks towards the door to Snape's office, and the rest filed in slowly behind them.

Her husband entered by crashing the door open like always, and Hermione smiled ruefully at herself, remembering him doing that for their breakfast entrance yesterday. _Somehow, she had always believed him to kick the door open, but of course, he had used magic._ Schooling her face into an interested, studious expression, she sat at the ready with her quill and parchment, prepared to keep their deal to not say a word.

The lesson was horrible. He eviscerated everyone, calling people names, told people they should look to live as Muggles after school, as there was no way they'd ever do anything useful with magic. Girls were crying, and boys were gritting their teeth together, fighting tears of humiliation.

"Ah, Potter," her husband drawled at last, and she shuddered, realizing he must have saved up a truly vicious comment for Harry's attempt to explain how to fight an Inferi.

"You would be _dead_ , if you followed that line of reasoning, Potter. Or maybe you, with your remarkable powers, would become the Boy Who Survived an Inferi Attack by Shouting _Expelliarmus_? If so, rest assured, you'll be sought after from all Universities and independent Masters alike to explain this extraordinary feat. It would indeed be another miracle." The Slytherins snickered obediently, while Harry fumed in silence. Eyes glittering maliciously, Snape said: "No, Potter, you will need fire, not _disarming_ reanimated, wandless corpses. That is, of course, assuming you would know the difference between _Lumos_ and _Fiendfyre_ , or even the difference between an _Accio_ or a _Reductor._ "

Shutting out her friend's humiliation at the hands of her husband – _there was absolutely nothing she could do anyway_ – Hermione nibbled her lip. _He sure had a temper, being so easy to anger, and he was a vindictive bastard. Everyone knew that. Ron had told her he apparently held quite an amount of power over her, what if he ever turned that temper on herself? She'd be in deep shit, and she swore to herself to start researching wizarding laws more thoroughly._

Suddenly, she became aware that he was asking, eyes slitted in fury, if anyone, absolutely _anyone_ , knew the answer to his question. Spooling backwards, she recalled him asking why Fiendfyre was so difficult to control. At last, she raised her hand, thinking that his comment of _anyone_ would have to include her.

Looking almost insane with rage, he nevertheless said in a low, dangerous voice: "Madam Snape, would you please be so kind as to enlighten your useless, helpless friends?"

Her head snapped up, and she glared at him, but she answered politely, making sure he could see her eyes burn too.

When she had delivered her answer, he spat: "Potter, you should listen to _my_ wife. She might just save your sorry life."

After class, Pansy Parkinson bumped into her, clinging to her arm. Giving her a nasty, simpering smile, the girl said, throwing her long, brown hair back: "You have something to look forward to for tonight, haven't you? I bet you get off on him punishing you in bed. Isn't that right, Granger? Tell me, are you in for a spanking for having so stupid friends?"

Hermione shook herself free, but before she could say anything, Draco – _Draco Malfoy of all people_ – stepped up to them, saying: "Shut it, Pansy. This is no way to talk to my Godmother." She felt herself gape stupidly at him, but the only consolation was that Pansy looked equally dumb with her jaw almost on her chest.

Draco raised an eyebrow to Pansy, and he said haughtily, before walking off to join his cronies: "Remember, Pansy, an insult to my Godmother or Godfather, is an insult to the Malfoy family."

Hermione shook her head in astonishment. _She had never thought Malfoy would take his promise to Snape so seriously, but clearly, he was. It was funny, really_ , and she couldn't help laughing out loud at the shock and disgust on the faces of Harry, Ron and Pansy.

Xxxx

During lunch, she was surprised when the boys shuffled away to sit with Dean and Neville, and Ginny joined her instead. Their see-through ploy was rather obvious, as the boys were nodding encouragingly to Ginny, giving thumbs up.

Smiling with exasperation, she turned to the younger girl. "So, you're here to talk to me about things they see as girl stuff, right?"

Ginny nodded, saying sagely: "We believe you might need it." She flicked her wand, and put up a Silencing spell around them. "So, spill it. How's life with Snape so far? More importantly, does he treat you right in bed?"

Hermione blushed, and answered: "Would you mind joining me someplace else for lunch? He's looking at us." Ginny looked up, seeing their Professor glare at them, black eyes boring into them like he wanted to break the Silencing spell.

Grinning broadly, the red-head giggled: "Oh, he knows. With that death stare, he knows this is about him."

The two girls took their lunch to an empty classroom, sitting on top of the desks, swinging their legs as they ate their sandwiches, swilling the food down with tea from a shared thermos.

Sighing, Hermione said: "I don't know how much I should tell, or maybe I shouldn't say anything at all. But you're right, I really need a sounding board or something. It'll be good to confide to someone." She gave the younger girl an embarrassed grimace.

"So, how's the sex?"

"Well… Last night, it was almost good, but…" she replied, red-faced. In her embarrassment, it rushed out of her: "It takes such a long time for me to come by myself. I don't think he would be that patient, as he really doesn't want me either. It just felt wrong to make him keep on doing that, knowing it would take ages. Better to just get it over and done with. The sex is just something we must do. And," she shrugged apologetically, "he _is_ Professor Snape. It's a bit scary to think about him making me come. Who knows, maybe he'd hold it against me sometime? Sneer at me, telling me I act like a whore or something. He's my _teacher_ , for Merlin's sake."

Ginny furrowed her brow, and said slowly "I can relate to why you would feel like that, Hermione. But still, sex is supposed to be good for both. Don't you think Professor Snape knows that it's perfectly normal for a girl to need more time getting there, than for a man? He is a grown man, he's bound to have some experience."

Hermione shuddered. "I don't want to think about what he has done or not, or what he knows."

"Still, you shouldn't put your own needs behind his, just because you're scared it might take a while," Ginny said, sounding for all the world like the writer of a relationship column.

Hermione laughed a little, hiding her flaming cheeks in her hand, before she shook her head. "No, maybe later, I'm just… not ready for _that_ yet. The whole thing, I mean the marriage as a whole, not just the sex, is so freaking awkward."

Ginny sighed, obviously casting around for another approach. Hermione became a little irritated, like her friend was pressuring her to make an effort to orgasm with her _Professor_ _. Didn't she see the wild indecency in that?_

The girl brightened, she obviously had an idea. Pleased with herself, she said: "Did he come, Hermione?"

"Ummm, well, yes, he had to, hadn't he? To fulfill the stupid Law?" She shot Ginny a glance, wondering what she was angling at.

"Why do you think he would hold you to a double standard? You'll be married for the rest of your life! Even Professor Snape can't be such an arse as to deny you orgasms. Not that I want to be very understanding of his situation, but don't you think it can be a little strange and lonely to be the only one who comes?"

"How did you become such a relationship expert, Ginny? Was it Dean or mooning about Harry for all those years that brought it all out?" Hermione said sarcastically, aiming to put an end to the conversation.

Ginny snorted, not taking offense. "Maybe I've learned something from having six stupid brothers. They make a lot of mistakes."

xxxx

Late at night, she was finishing her letter to Rita Skeeter at his desk in the living room. Sitting comfortably in her pajamas, she enjoyed the warmth still spreading into the room as the fire in the large fireplace slowly died. Suddenly, the fireplace sparked, the flames turned green, and the tall frame of her husband entered the room, Banishing specks of soot from his clothes.

"I thought you'd be in bed this late," he said, voice deep and somehow soft. As he walked towards her, she caught a whiff of woodsmoke and Firewhisky, and she guessed he had been somewhere outside, probably at a pub.

Peeking over her shoulder, he exclaimed: "Why are your writing that bint? It'll only fuel her stories! Besides, you don't have to take action, I did promise to protect you." His voice was strangely hesitant, and she turned to look at him.

Giving him an innocent look, she said calmly: "You see, Skeeter and I had a one year deal. Though she held her part, I'm now writing to inform her that I revoke all promises, and she'll have to suffer the consequences if she doesn't do as I say."

"A deal?" he said, looking both horrified and intrigued, though she couldn't miss his quick glance down at her chest. _And why did her nipples perk at his attention?_ "Why would you make a deal with someone like _her_?"

For a few seconds, she debated if she should tell him. _Well, he was a Slytherin, he might enjoy it._

Stretching a little on her chair – _and definitively not pushing out her chest just to tease him –_ she almost crooned with pleasure: "You see, our dear Rita is an unregistered Animagus. I've threatened to tell the Ministry if she writes any more lies about me, Harry or Ron – or _you_. And," her smile deepened into a wicked curl, "The first time, I made my point by keeping her in her beetle form into a jar over the summer between fourth and fifth grade. In this letter, I tell her I would like to do so again."

She had never seen Severus Snape looking _impressed_ , but now, he clearly was. "That's…" he said, voice a little gruff, "that's… just … _so very_ Slytherin of you, Hermione."

"Is that a compliment?" she said, raising an eyebrow to him with a small smile.

"Of course, the best I can give," he said, giving her an amused quirk of his lips.

 _This was almost a bit flirty,_ she thought to herself, lowering her head so he wouldn't see her blush. Pursing her lips, she thought about what Ginny had said. But still, she was unsure. _I can't just expect him to bother with giving me an orgasm,_ she thought, a little despondently. _I would like to, but there's no way I can ask him to do that. He'll grow bored, and then he'll taunt me for not coming, or something like that._

She almost froze, when he suddenly pushed her hair away and stroked her neck with his fingertips, the touch tentative and careful. Looking up to him, she saw an odd expression on his face. _A mix of apprehension and desire,_ she thought. _It felt good though, like a proper caress._ But she had one more task for tonight.

Giving him an unsure smile, oscillating on a scale between mild panic and pleasure, she said: "I'm almost done. I just wanted to write a letter to Victor to tell him what happened." She pulled out a fresh parchment, dipping her quill, and started writing: _Dearest Victor. I know you'll be surprised, shocked and sad to hear my news._

The hand on her neck stilled, and she could hear a harsh intake of his breath. Later, she berated herself for not realizing how the mood in the room shifted. _Maybe she could have explained, somehow stopping it from happening._

His voice was suddenly an octave lower, almost ominously deep and silky: " _Victor_? And who is that?"

"Victor Krum, of course," she said absentmindedly, chewing on her quill as she wondered how to break the news to Victor. _Her Bulgarian friend would be shocked to learn of the Marriage Law,_ she knew, _and he'd be sad for her sake. Victor was not one to take news of a forced marriage lightly._

"The Quidditch player? What's he to you?"

"He was my boyfriend." She smiled down at her parchment, oblivious to the signs of danger in his voice, remembering how relieved they both were when they agreed to be just friends. "We've visited each other every summer since my fourth year. It has been nice." Laughing a little, she continued: "I even think you caught us snogging at the Yule Ball, though I wouldn't expect you to remember that, thinking of how many students you must have caught during your years."

He spat: "Of course I remember! That's the only time I caught the goody-two-shoes Princess of Gryffindor in the bushes. You can imagine my surprise."

She looked up at him, shocked by the venom in his voice, seeing his face dark with anger.

He said, voice unnaturally calm, conflicting with the fire in his eyes: "And just how far did you go with this _boyfriend_ of yours _?_ "

It felt like her heart stopped, and suddenly, she was afraid. There was something about his face, something dangerous, like he was angry with _her_ for some obscure reason. He stood, looming threateningly like a dark shadow in the light of the dying embers from the fireplace, his face in shadows. The room seemed to grow colder, like the bitter, early winter cold from outside had crept in as the fire died out. She supposed the frost actually did seep in – but at the same time, it also felt like the chill came from _him_.

His fist suddenly clenched in her hair, and he bellowed: "Answer me!"

She almost jumped in fright. _What was this? Why was he so angry?_

At the same time, her own temper was stoking a fire inside her. _He had no right to ask!_

Back stiffly erect, trying to ignore the slightly painful grip he had on her hair, she said haughtily: "That's none of your business, _sir_."

He leaned down, whispering silkily in her ear, his breath hot on her skin: "Oh, but it is. I want to know whose hands have been pawing my wife's tits and cunt. Did he grope you? Did he touch your pussy, making you come for him? Did you give him a handjob, or did your pretty, little mouth service him with a blowjob?"

Eyes blazing, she turned to him fully, saying bitingly: "Please refrain from talking to me like that! I was a virgin until two nights ago, and you know that very well."

"I know," he said angrily, "oh, I know." His eyes darkened, as he took in her flushed face. "We have to do it tonight too, to maximize the chances of you conceiving. That is, if you can tear yourself away from writing to your … _boyfriend._ "

Swallowing, her heart thumping much too fast in her chest, she nodded, and rose from her chair to go to the bedroom. He gripped her arm, harshly, and he said with a sneer: "We'll do it right here. Bend over my desk."

She stood still, not understanding why this was happening. He seemed so _different_. Before, he hadn't been caring, exactly, but she had felt somewhat safe, trusting his word when he told her he wouldn't hurt her. This time, he seemed like someone else. A chill went through her as she thought: _He's like a Death Eater._

Being caught by his glare, like deer in the headlights of a Muggle car, she didn't even manage to open her mouth to ask what was wrong, to protest that _she_ hadn't done anything wrong. His eyes narrowed, and he yanked her arm, almost shoving her down on the desk, putting pressure on her shoulders, making her lay face-forward over the polished, wooden surface of the desk, her letter to Victor crushed beneath her chest.

He pushed up her skirt and pulled down her knickers, and she heard him whisper: " _Lubricatem,"_ again.

 _No efforts to arouse me this time,_ she thought, surprised at her own faint disappointment buried beneath her fear, and she shuddered as she heard the rustle of his clothes. Suddenly he was there, gripping her hip with one hand, grabbing hold of her hair with another, and he shoved himself into her, roughly.

Her breath was forced out of her, wincing at the feeling of his cock entering her unprepared, though her sex was wet from the spell. He grunted, setting a fast tempo, his hips slapping into her bum with resounding smacks in the stone room. She leaned her face down on the cold wood of his desk, feeling tears pool in her eyes. _This was what she had feared the first night. This was like a rape – the only thing differing was her small nod of consent to let him fuck her. But not like this! Not like she was a whore being paid to indulge his rape fantasy._ Now, she was submitting to his desires, his dominance and power, her body at his mercy, and there was no place for _her_ desires in this act, it was all for him. A tiny, unwelcome streak of desire shot through her by that thought, but she shook it quickly off as a random, freak reaction. Sobbing quietly, she hoped he'd finish soon. After a while, she heard him mumble something:

"Gods, yes, you're so wet, I've wanted you for so long, your tits, Merlin, I swear I've wanted to cream on them for years," he panted, voice very low.

Shock went through her – _he had wanted to have sex with her before this? That was preposterous, she was his student, and only recently of age! No, something was off, his words didn't seem to belong to her. Was he fantasizing about someone else?_

She strained to hear him, as he continued:

"That lovely hair of yours," and he pulled her hair, making her back arch almost painfully, "your arse so firm and round, it feels so good to fuck you hard. You like that, don't you, my sweet? You like your Sev all hard and ready for you, my cock pounding your wet cunt like you're begging me to do. You need me, don't you, to fill up your empty hole, your tight little quim. I'm going to flood your pussy with my come…" He groaned, as thrusts became even harder, and then he shouted, almost illegible: "Lil..!", the words strangled by his grunt and the frenetic slapping of his hips.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood. _Clearly, he had thought of someone else. Someone he wanted. And now, they were stuck with each other. He was going to take her like this, thinking of someone else. Forever._

As he pulled back, she bounced off the desk, running into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Warding it, she let out a scream of sorrow, of rage, of frustration, and it just wouldn't stop.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Sorry! *hides* This really went from awkward to awful. I know you wanted something lighter, moving towards romance, but rest assured, it'll be there in time. Currently, I am writing more on Awkward, but I'm still not sure how much/ how long it'll end up. There's at least another chapter to this (about half done), and I promise, I'll end this on a happier note than this chapter, though there are a lot of issues to work through. Let's just say, the awkwardness doesn't just go away._

 _Question: Does anyone want to see Hermione being brought before Voldemort? Not sure if I want to include that (even without bowing to "my inner" Dark Lord's perverted wishes), but still, meeting with him makes for a much more creepy and darker storyline._


	4. the wickedest of all the passions

_**A/N:**_ _Jealousy is a powerful emotion, and it's hard to do the sheer awfulness of it justice in writing. This may start out a bit dark, but it'll lighten up. A little. *grins*_

 _It ended up as a very long chapter, though, but it spans two weeks instead of a day. Please, tell me what you think!_

 _Thanks to those who reviewed, followed and favorited. I love that._

* * *

"I've been talking to Dumbledore," she informed him haughtily the next evening. She was sitting primly in bed with her hands folded across the duvet. He stiffened, and by her triumphant expression, he knew his reaction was visible.

"Very well," he said calmly, continuing to unbutton his shirt, but he was in uproar on the inside. _Had she told Dumbledore how he had abused her? It was no more than he deserved, but still…_

"I asked to be granted the privilege of entering the Gryffindor Common room, as I simply _can't_ spend all my evenings in here," she said.

He exhaled, and shrugged non-committedly, not showing the tumultuous tempest inside him. Her message was clear, she didn't _want_ to spend her evenings with him. _He didn't expect it to be different either_ , he thought bitterly, _and frankly, he couldn't stand the sight of her. Each time he saw her, little licks of rage ran through his body, making his blood catch fire and involuntary, his arm muscles flexed._ Sneering, he commanded: "I expect you back here before curfew at ten every night."

She shrugged. "He asked how we were doing," she continued, looking smug.

This time, he didn't take the bait, he just waited for what she had to say as he folded his shirt neatly on the chair. She finished, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she ducked down between the covers: "I told him you fulfilled my expectations."

That hit him like a wall of bricks, and Severus managed to hide his flinch by flicking the lights off with a furious lash of his magic.

Xxxx

It had been days, and still he was raging on the inside. She, on the other hand, wouldn't look at him or talk to him, but _he_ could barely look at her before he got that suffocating, angry feeling in his chest. At meals, she averted her eyes from the Head table, she was quiet, pale and angry in class, and she was reading heavy tomes on Wizarding Law by the bedside, wearing thick, flannel pajamas to bed. He knew she was looking for loopholes to get out of the marriage, and he really couldn't blame her, though he was very much aware that her research was futile. _And Gods, how he_ _hated himself – and **her**._ The chit had the nerve to write a love letter to her boyfriend, telling him the sad story of her marriage, while he looked over her shoulder. It had felt as the lid on a steamboiler blew, and long-buried feelings of being rejected, cast away, being shunned, scorned, unwanted and unloved had come hurtling out from his innermost, hidden self to torment him.

His mind was envisioning the things she might have done with Krum. Victor Krum, who was _everything_ Severus wasn't: Young, handsome, famous, _loved_ , with a devoted fan base… The images played out constantly in his head: His wife and the Quidditch star would have kissed passionately, undressing each other, Krum licking her perky nipples until she moaned, the young wizard fingering her pussy, licking her, shoving his tongue up her tight little hole, making her gasp and moan until she orgasmed, writhing under his attentions. Then she would stroke her hands along Krum's cock, making him groan, until she took him in his mouth, sucking on his cock, the wizard pumping it in and out of her sweet lips. His mind supplied a plethora of places where the Quidditch star would have left his white, glistening seed on her: _Merlin, Krum would have fucked her sweet mouth, her tits, her tight, little arse…_ All except the one place he _knew_ was untouched. Groaning, he shook himself out of the nightmarish fantasies, feeling sick revulsion at the images he conjured. Rationally, he was fully aware that there was not likely his wife had done anything more than snogging the boy, but still, the fantasies plagued him, leaving him no rest.

Severus could not understand why this wild jealousy had manifested, or maybe he was just _much_ more possessive than he had imagined. But he rather thought it was jealousy: All the signs were there: He was sick, nauseous and close to feverish, had trouble sleeping, he was bitter, angry and hurt, and seeing her made his chest clench painfully. _And Lily – Lily – **Lily** – was slipping away from him, her image being replaced by an angry, scared young girl, and he just couldn't understand why. _

It _had_ to be the Vows, there was no rational explanation otherwise. He knew the Vows were meant to form an attachment between husband and wife, but still – he had never expected it to feel like this. It wasn't love, nor caring, it was pure, un-adultered lust, jealousy and something uncomfortably close to hatred.

Still, no matter how he felt, there was no excuse for what he had done. He had seen too many rapes to know that his actions were by far too similar for his comfort. Saying Lily's name was a blow below the belt, he _knew_ that. Though _,_ he had stared at his little wife's delicious body, his mind blurring the actual, sexual act with one of his favorite fantasies about Lily. _Truth to tell, he couldn't really say where the fantasy and reality had bled over into each other._ His mouth had supplied the right words to taunt her, to make her feel as unwanted and as miserable as himself. _If **she** reserved herself the right to not want to come for him, to be disgusted by their physical relationship, he could prove to her that **he** didn't want her, either, even though it strictly was far from the truth. _

_Because, the only good part of his days was waking up._ Invariably, the little witch had snuggled into him at night, slinging her thigh over his hips, one arm curled over his chest, her small fingers threading into his chest hair. If she woke first, she pulled away like he had burnt her, whereas he enjoyed the intimacy of being close to her body. _And Merlin, how he wanted her._ He had no idea how to go about making the situation better, and he couldn't seem to tame his fury, nor his erections. It seemed like he was fifteen again, walking around with an almost ever-present hard-on.

The week went by, and the next time he would get to fuck her loomed over him as something he simultaneously desperately wanted and feared. The dwindling days felt like a countdown to bliss and doom, because the desire to bury himself in her again ruled his thoughts, while he dreaded fucking an angry girl who hated the fact that she had to submit to his touch.

 _He would do something for her to show_ _his good intentions, though he had to admit, his intentions weren't all that good. He just wanted the damned girl to know she belonged to him, not Victor fucking Krum._ Severus sighed. _But it would have to wait until his anger and raw jealousy abated, or else he would surely destroy the whole thing._

Xxxx

She was staying with her friends in Gryffindor Tower every evening. He just _knew_ they would be talking about him, and he stoked his anger by thinking she was mocking him to the whole of Gryffindor. Every night at bedtime, he felt her nervous stare, her worries and her fear of him touching her again. He wanted to prove her _right_ , by taking her forcibly, showing her who she belonged to, and he wanted to prove her _wrong_ , by restraining himself, redeeming himself in her eyes. Trying to calm himself, to relax the neck-breaking tension he felt in his own rooms, he opted for a good wank in the shower. She was sure to be in Gryffindor Tower until curfew.

The warm, lovely water splashed across his shoulders and back, as he supported his body onto the tiled wall with his left hand, his right gripping his cock, tugging slowly on his erection. _It was ridiculous, really, how quickly he neared his climax by thinking of her._ The head of his cock was already purplish, weeping drops of precum glistening in the split, and the veins and ridges stood out hard in his hand. _He envisioned her in the shower with him, her legs gripping his waist, as he pounded into her up against the wall. She would be almost wild with desire, clenching her cunt around him, as she gasped…_

A very real gasp broke his attention, and he turned his head to see his young wife standing on the bathroom floor, dressed in a kimono with a towel over her shoulders. Both of them froze, her brown eyes impossibly large as she took in what he was doing, her pretty mouth falling halfway open. He felt moments, even ages pass, as they just stared at each other. His cock brought him back to reality, as it twitched, longing for his hand to move, and it kickstarted his anger and shame all over again.

"Merlin's fucking balls!" he swore, before barking at the wide-eyed, little witch: "WILL YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

She took her towel and ran.

Xxxx

He spent most of his free time in his office, brewing or marking. His own home, his quarters, had become a place he wanted to avoid, to not stoke the fury he felt every time he saw his wife, or even signs of her, like her clothes beside his in the dresser. _Victor Krum, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley – and who knew who else could have touched his wife?_ He knew it wasn't fair to believe the _Prophet_ , but still – right now, he felt like he was willing to believe _anything_ in his anger.

Tonight, he was brewing for the Infirmary, doing three cauldrons of Blood-Replenising Potions and two Pepper-Ups. The potions were mind-shattering boring, but it would keep him occupied.

He leaned over one of the large cauldrons of Pepper-up, letting the tendrils of smoke lace around him, making patterns on its way to the ceiling, as he counted the stirrings. Suddenly, he became aware that _she_ was standing in the door, clutching a letter. Scowling at her, anger darkening as he remembered _her_ fucking letter to Krum, he snapped: "What?"

"I have an invitation from Mrs. Weasley," she said nervously.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he understood the invitation was important to her.

"She… asks if we would both spend Christmas at the Burrow," she said, voice a little hopeful, though her expression clearly told him she expected no for an answer.

He snorted at her, giving her an incredulous look, as he shook his head.

"Why not?", she ventured.

Scoffing at her, he stated with determination: " _That_ will never happen." _She couldn't be so blind-sided to not realize the fact that he would never willingly spend time with any Weasley on the planet._

Suddenly, his Mark burned, and he groaned, clasping his left hand. Automatically, he rose, Summoning his cloak and mask wordlessly, setting his potions under a stasis spell. As the objects came hurtling to him, and he grabbed them from the air with practiced ease, draping himself in the cloak, the sound of a small gasp made him turn fully to his wife. Something inside him clenched, hard, as he saw the terror in her eyes. It was clear that she, _again_ , recognized him as a Death Eater, one of _them,_ one who could have tortured her parents to death. _Gods, he hated himself. He hated **her**! Why, why, why would nothing work out for him? Was he doomed to alienate every witch in his life? _

Their eyes met, and she clasped her hand to her mouth, as she fled from the room. Angrily, he bellowed after her: "You can go to hell for all I care, but you're to stay here for Christmas!"

Feeling _sick_ , he scolded himself for not realizing that at this point, she'd believe _anything_ about him. And she wasn't far off the mark, either.

Xxxx

The week was up, and he stood over his wife, as she sat pale and downcast on the bed. He didn't have to say a word, as she undressed hurriedly, before throwing herself face down on the bed.

"Do your … thing," she said, her voice muffled by the pillows, her brown hair curling enticingly over her naked back.

He swallowed, feeling his cock twitch by seeing the dark shadow between the cheeks of her arse. Undressing quickly, he climbed onto the bed, moving in between her legs. Running a hand down her spine, squeezing her hips, _her skin so soft, so silken, those hips so voluptuous in comparison to her narrow waist_ , he almost jumped as she turned her head, barking at him: "Don't touch me!"

Frowning at her, he stroked his cock fully hard, before he released the spell at her, making her wet. Sitting on his knees, he gripped her hips, lifting her arse up and drove into her. _Gods, she felt so good, so wondrously tight, with that bespelled wetness lubricating his cock, making sloshing noises as he pumped in and out of her._

Her body began to shake, and he could hear muffled sobs through the pillow. _Merlin, no, she was crying!_ He hated it when they cried, having been ordered too many times by the Dark Lord to do things he really couldn't stomach. His erection faltered, and he swore to himself. There was no other way, he would have to do as he did for the Dark Lord: raising his Occlumency shields as high as they could go. _There, his cock hardened again, but the downside would be him needing more time to reach completion._ He thrust in and out of the girl, emotionless and detached, analyzing that her limp, submissive body pointed to her giving in, though her sobs seemed to prove otherwise – _her mind hadn't given up on her freedom of choice_. In the end, he got there, spilling himself into her, his orgasm feeling faint and weak behind his shields.

Letting his shields go, he slammed back into his emotions again, gasping as touch, sound and smells amplified, and he was being overwhelmed by the smell of raw sex, her skin tingling against his and her cries assaulting his ears.

Swallowing hard, shaking his head to clear him of the dizziness that followed by pulling down the shields, he felt the anger directed at her lessened both by her pathetic sniffling and his own, blessed afterglow. Contrary to the other times, she lay still, sobbing quietly, and he could see a wet spot forming underneath her as he pulled away from her. Easing himself down on the pillows, he reached out tentatively to stroke her back, but was totally unprepared for her flinging herself at him, head buried in his chest, as wild sobs tore through her.

Patting her head and back awkwardly, he felt at a loss. _No one had ever sought comfort from Severus Snape before. He had no idea what to do._

"There, there," he said a little helplessly, feeling his chest become wet with her tears. "If there's any consolation, I do not like this anymore that you do. This is … wrong," he whispered, as much to himself as to her, "Albus shouldn't have put us through this." The girl cried harder at that, and it took a long time before her breathing calmed and she felt asleep in his arms, exhausted by her crying.

Xxxx

"And I really hope you will bring your lovely, young wife, Severus! I'm sure there are lots of people interested in meeting the two of you. So many exciting people will join us for my Christmas party!"

His eyes snapped open, as he wrenched himself out of his reverie, or more rightly, another nightmarish vision of the playful smile his wife wore before she swallowed Krum's cock with a sensuous moan.

The rest of the staff stared at him with curiosity, and he realized he had been gritting his teeth. Pulling at his collar – _Albus' office seemed to be much too warm_ – he cleared his throat. A musical tinkle from one of the Headmaster's rare, spindly instruments rang through the room. His brow furrowed – _those things were keyed to the wards, fueling them, while also acting as an audible alarm. Was there something wrong?_ Albus, on the other hand, seemed to be his usual, calm self.

Severus shrugged at his former Potion teacher, saying: "I don't think so, Horace. I haven't got the disposition for those kinds of things, as you know."

He could see Charity Burbage roll her eyes to Aurora Sinistra. "Why not let the girl go alone, let her dress up and have fun like a _normal_ teenager, so she can feel pretty and appraised by her peers, not as a beaten down house wife to an old man," she suggested snidely.

Images exploded in his mind, of male students and Slughorn's guests pawing his little wife, groping her during dancing, touching her inappropriately, and he growled furiously: "No! I won't leave her to the attentions of randy wizards, whether they are students, celebrities or Ministry workers. It's out of the question!"

A shocked silence spread in the room, like ripples in water. Then Charity arched her eyebrows, saying to no one in particular: "I told you, he's obsessed with her, that filthy child molester," the last words hissing out, conveying all of the Muggle Studies teacher's disgust.

"Hold on," said Albus mildly, but with steel behind the gentleness. He pensively stroked his beard, and Severus did _not_ like the way his blue eyes twinkled. "Why don't you make your stay short, Severus?" he suggested. "Then Miss Granger can dress up, have fun with her friends, meet influential people that might advocate her chances for a job later on, all the while staying safely on your arm, and the two of you can make it an early night."

Severus knew this was no suggestion. _This was an order_ , and he scowled at Albus.

"Very well," he said, giving a jerky nod at Slughorn, "we'll make an appearance."

Xxxx

In the early hours of the morning, he entered his chambers, dragging his hands tiredly through his hair. He smelt of smoke, blood, sulphur and fires, and he knew the dark stains on his clothing was made by innocent blood.

 _At the debrief, Albus had been disgusted, and Severus had yelled at him: "How do you think I feel about this? You're not the one who had to do it, you don't even dare to watch it in the pensieve! You're so safe and cozy up here in your castle, you're so perfectly content to order me into actions that could curl anyone's toes, not to mention forcing me into a marriage!"_

 _Albus had sighed, looking old and frail. "I know, Severus, I know. I use you shamelessly, but please don't ever believe I do not know what I ask of you. I have to live with my remorse, the same as you."_

 _"Yes," he spat as an answer, "But you are not the one who killed four Muggles tonight and burnt down their house, as your fellows raped young girls into insanity and tortured half a village before they were all killed. You are not the one whose body count is rapidly approaching forty people."_

Now, he stood in his bedroom, looking down at his innocent, young wife sleeping, tucked into his black bedsheets. She looked so peaceful, so _safe,_ when in truth she was now kept safe only by his own, terrible tie to the Dark Lord, the threats to her life put on hold, as the Death Eaters and their Master all thought he was enjoying his new toy, pumping her for information on Potter to the detriment of the Order.

 _Dolohov had sneered at him while thrusting harshly into a wriggling girl's throat: "Why the fuck did you do such a Vow of Fidelity? You miss out on all the fun, though you're always been on the squeamish side when it comes to teach those Mudblood cunts their place. But you do have your own little Mudblood to play with, I suppose she's enough for you. Good kills tonight, though, you do an admirably Avada as always."_

Severus sighed, loudly, hoping that the Dark Lord would keep his promise to let him keep her to himself, not having to drag her to a revel. Then his wife stirred, yawning a little, and opened her eyes.

She blinked as she saw him, silver mask in hand, black cloak still around his shoulders, and she made a soft cry. Nose wrinkling in disgust from the awful smell from his clothing, her eyes grew and grew, until he winced. Banishing the mask and his cloak to its usual place in his dresser, he stalked into the bathroom, not wanting to see the terror and hate in her eyes.

Xxxx

Tired, grumpy and sick with revulsion of his own actions, he handed out detentions and loss of points like candy the whole day.

As he entered the classroom for his sixth years' lesson, he saw his wife duck her head, clearly avoiding his gaze. She was pale and drawn, like she hadn't slept at all. His eyes dragged to her constantly, and he grew increasingly annoyed at the worried glances Potter and Weasley were throwing at her too.

"LONGBOTTOM!" he roared, as the boy once again was knocked flat on his back by his wife. "WHY is it that you can't even throw up a simple Protego? It must be true, that you're more a Squib than a wizard. I cannot believe you actually passed your O.W.L.s., but believe me, I AM considering kicking you out of this class."

A gasp went through the students, standing ready to duel in pairs, and all eyes swiveled to him, the Gryffindors shocked, the Slytherins gleeful. Only his wife looked down at the floor, her hands shaking a little.

"Sir," Potter said, looking aggravated, big green eyes – _Lily's eyes, taunting him, asking why he was so obsessed with the mere slip of a girl who had entered his life_ – stared at him, "sir, Neville can do a Protego, it's just that Hermione is so much faster than most of us."

"Oh, is she," he drawled, looking menacingly at Potter and the Longbottom boy, still scrambling around on the floor, looking for his wand.

"Yes," Potter insisted stubbornly, "he just isn't a match for her."

"Tell me, Potter, do you feel that the Death Eaters would consider which opponents are evenly matched, as to set up fair fights?" He spotted Longbottom's wand underneath a desk, and Summoned it. It smacked into his palm, and he confiscating it by putting the wand in his pocket, to Longbottom's obvious dismay.

"No, sir, I don't know about that, but I'm sure _you_ know all about it," Potter said insolently.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, and a detention with Filch tonight. Longbottom, you will hand in an essay on how to increase your casting speed. A foot should do nicely. You'll get your wand back when I receive your essay," he hissed viciously in answer. Longbottom paled, looking nervous and stressed, but Potter seemed to swell in anger. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his wife shaking her head at Potter, mouthing: " _Leave it_ ".

Narrowing his eyes, he said to her: "Hex me."

Her brown eyes snapped to his in surprise, and she squeaked: "What?" Shaking her head, she quickly amended: "Hex you, _sir?"_

"Yes," he said curtly, spreading his arms to make an easy target. The whole class gawked at them, eyes wide open in surprise and curiosity.

Her mouth, that pretty little mouth, those red lips, worked soundlessly, before she composed herself. Taking a dueling stance, she was getting ready to cast. He observed the infinitesimal movements signaling the gathering of her magic, a slight widening of her pupils, a small twitch in the muscles of her arm, the curling of a finger around her wand. When it came, it was fast, strong, sure and silent.

The _Expulso_ crashed into his shield, raised quicker than her casting, making blue sparks fly over the classroom. He blinked slightly. _Potter was right, she was fast, this was good casting._

"Excellent, Madam," he said calmly, making the rest of the class gasp in surprise. "Now, each pair will join with another. When you're not casting or defending, you are to watch for signs in the casters' body language, signaling imminent magic use. To be able to read an opponent is a necessary trait for a dueler. Likewise, to be able to detect your own signs, then working on hiding and diffusing them, is useful. Longbottom, you will simply watch for the rest of the class. Join Potter, Weasley, Thomas and Finnigan. Start working!", he barked at them.

The students scurried around, finding extra partners, before commencing their training. His wife stood still, watching him, not asking the obvious question out loud, though it still screamed at him from her mind: "What about me?"

He crooked a finger at her, motioning to an empty space in the middle of the floor. Reluctantly, she followed him. "Do you have any idea of what your own signs are?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"Cast again, and concentrate on relaxing your wand arm," he said, "your arm twitches and you move your fingers."

"Yes, sir," she said obediently. The girl closed her eyes briefly, and he drank her face in hungrily. _She was so beautiful when she was relaxed. He wanted her to look like that around him, not that pinched, worried frown she had worn the past two weeks._ Shaking himself, he thought, irritated: _Where did that come from?_

It was a good thing he had roused himself from his daydreaming, because the girl's eyes opened, and it was only the dilation of her pupils that gave him warning. He threw up his own shield, blocking her curse at the last moment.

"Good," he said grudgingly, conjuring a large mirror. "Now watch yourself as you cast, and try to make note of what you do – and don't. Try to be as relaxed as possible." She nodded, brushing past him as she stepped up to the mirror, brown eyes intently focused on her task. Sighing, he let his eyes linger on her form for a moment, before stalking off to see how the idiots were doing. His Slytherins quickly averted their inconspicuous staring, concentrating on their task instead, but the Gryffindors were still gawking at him with their mouths hanging open. _Stupid kids. It seemed impossible that those morons had anything at all in common with his wife, excepting the colour of their ties._

Xxxx

Two days later, Draco nervously approached him in his office hours.

Impatiently, he set his quill aside, leaving the fifth years essays aside. "Yes," he said, eyes boring into the boy. _It was a good thing his Godson came to him, maybe he finally was ready to talk about his task._

But Draco had something else on his mind. The boy cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Sir, I wondered if I could say something to you as your Godson, not as your student."

His eyebrows shot up. _This was a rare occurrence, especially in later years._ "Very well, Draco," he said slowly.

"Your wife and you … well, people are talking quite a lot."

"I can imagine," he said drily.

"Some say you favour her in class, giving her special treatment, that you care for her. Others say she's looking sick and pale, and suggests that you are abusing her daily. I don't know what to believe, but I wanted to ask you what you want me to tell the others."

The boy's clear, blue eyes was locked on him, and Severus felt uncomfortable. _The boy was asking about much more than what to tell his classmates. He was asking what to tell at home, what the Malfoy family should tell the Dark Lord._

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Severus sighed. "Draco," he began, "Draco… what I do here, is a difficult job. The girl needs to be subdued and submissive to serve the Dark Lord's cause, but I can't do it openly in class, right under Dumbledore's nose. I have to be seen treating her well, and you need to help me with that. I suggest you tell everyone that I demand respect for my wife, but she's mine to do with as I see fit. In all respects."

The boy blanched, obviously imagining something atrocious, probably some idea he had picked up from Lucius, Severus rather thought. Pouncing on him as he was out of balance, Severus asked silkily: "And what about your task, Draco? The Bell incident wasn't all that well received, I can imagine. I'm here to help you, just ask."

The boy frowned, and said: "I'm ordered to do this on my own. I wasn't supposed to ask for help. Aunt Bella…"

"Never mind your aunt. I promised your mother to help you," Severus said.

Draco backed off, shaking his head. "No, no, Aunt Bella will tell _him_. He'll kill my mother."

"Surely not, he needs the Malfoy family on his side," he said clippedly.

"He raped her," the boy said bluntly, his face pinched, "after the Bell incident, as you call it. My father was ordered to join in to circumnavigate the Fidelity Vow. Aunt Bella told me, she sent the memory for me to watch in my pensieve."

His breath caught, and he felt something catch at his throat. Gruffly, he said: "I'm sorry, Draco. The price for failure is always high. That's why you should accept my help. Do not risk you mother's safety." _Oh Narcissa, poor dear,_ he thought. _He had always been fond of her, and this … this … was awful. To think the monster attempting something like that with his Hermione…_

Draco's mouth quivered, and Severus was again uncomfortably reminded how young these sixth years really were. _Mere children, really_. _Certainly not ready to be married or involved in convoluted plots to kill old, powerful wizards._ The boy shook his head, eyes angry and afraid, and he choked out: "I can't… Bella, she'll find out." By that, he turned and ran out of the office.

Xxxx

Tomorrow night, he'd have to fuck her again. A vicious mix of lust and anger was roiling in his stomach, and he stalked the halls on his patrol, searching for curfew breakers, someone to be on the receiving end of his anger. He stopped, withdrawing into a niche, as he heard dainty, careful steps coming his way. _No doubt a girl, probably returning to the dungeons after a tryst with a boy from another house._

Turning around the bend of the corridor, a shadowed figure with the hood of her cloak pulled over her head emerged. Severus lay in wait, smiling grimly to himself. As she walked by, he stepped out, tearing her hood away.

The girl emitted a small shriek, and he stared into the brown eyes of none other than his wife.

"You!" he barked. "Where have you been?"

"Gr…Gryf…Gryffindor tower, sir!" she stammered, eyes wide as he loomed over her in the dark, deserted corridor.

"You're late," he said angrily. "What have you been doing?"

"Homework, talking to Ron and Harry," she stuttered, pale cheeks blushing slightly.

"About what?" his eyes narrowed, certain that he had figured prominently in the conversation.

"School, quidditch, You-know-who, Christmas, the Hogsmeade weekend," she said nervously.

He snorted. "Tell me the truth," he demanded.

Her blush deepened, and he snapped, fury filling his veins with a pounding, insistent force. Dragging her roughly along by the arm, she was running on her short legs after him, down the corridor, down the stairs and into his office. Well inside, he slammed the door shut and pushed her against the door.

Pinning her down with his much larger frame, he cupped her face, tilting it up to him. Her breath was short, panicky and her eyes were terrified. Trying not to notice the way her chest heaved, he snarled at her: " _Legilimens."_

 _She was writing, reading, telling the two idiots to do their own homework, before she sighed, exasperatedly, taking Potter's scroll from his hands, and scratching out obvious mistakes in his Defense essay. He snorted, taking note of just how many mistakes the Chosen One really did do before his competent wife had corrected the essay. He noted her leaving some in, as to not make it too perfect, and he almost smiled. How cunningly Slytherin of his wife, to make Potter's essay better, yet still realistic. He really couldn't **believe** she was a Gryffindor. _

_"Gods, you're so lucky to have Dumbledore grade yours," Potter grumbled, as Weasley furrowed his brow, trying to write up his Potion essay._

 _"My grades have improved," she said, preoccupied, as her quill still scratched on Potter's homework._

 _Weasley snorted, and said: "No wonder, the greasy git never gave you what you deserved, everyone knew that. I suppose he hates the fact that you're now getting straight O's in his subject."_

 _"It's Professor Snape, Ronald," she said sternly, looking up at the red-head._

 _"Come on, 'Mione, does he make you call him that in private too?"_

 _A blush suffused her face, and she said stiffly: "That's none of your damned business, Ron!"_

 _"Please, we only want to help," Potter said, green eyes looking earnestly at her. "You never say anything about how you feel, but we do have eyes, you know. I can tell you're not happy. Everyone sees it, and everyone talks about it. You can trust us, you know, we'll help you."_

 _She glanced down, and he was mortified to see her eyes fill with tears. "I can't tell you," she whispered, big, fat drops pooling in her lashes._

 _"You don't have to protect him," Potter said gently, touching her arm, "you don't owe him anything. He promised to protect you, and if he doesn't, then you should talk to Dumbledore."_

 _She barked a bitter laugh, saying: "Fat lot of good that would do me, as Dumbledore was the one who forced this through." Shaking her head, she composed herself: "No, thanks for caring. There's nothing to tell, really, and I swear he's not abusing me. Still, as you say, I'm not … happy. But what did you expect?"_

 _The boys fell silent, still looking worried at her._

Severus withdrew from her mind, and as their eyes met, he felt his shame engulf him, overwhelm him, suffocate him, drown him. _She lied for him, protected him, even to her friends. He didn't deserve her loyalty, he deserved her hatred._ Spinning around, he pushed her away from the door, and re-entered the corridors, trying to escape those innocent, beautiful eyes. _Somehow, he didn't succeed. Those eyes haunted him as he swept through the castle, making him feel worthless and small._

xxxx

The next evening, he knocked on Minerva's door, using the little lion-headed brass knocker. It roared at him, voice tiny and piping in the corridor. He shook his head at the folly of having something like this instead of a proper guardian, just as the door opened. Minerva peered out, her head still in her usual bun, but her robes were off. Surprisingly, she wore slacks and a jumper underneath. _Odd, he would never have pegged Minerva for a casual dresser, even in her spare time_.

"Yes?" the older witch said, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Is there something wrong with my cubs?"

"No, not cubs in plural," he said heavily. "May I come in?"

"Of course," she said, opening the door.

Inside her quarters, he forced his facial expressions to hold still, as his eyes were accosted by the glaringly, tartan-covered room.

"Firewhisky?" Minerva said, pouring a shot for herself.

"Yes, please."

Both of them sipped their whiskies, before Minerva said: "What's with Miss Granger?" Then her face became almost comically flustered, and she excused herself: "I'm so sorry, Severus, this is all so new. I meant Mrs. Snape."

"No offense. It's not working out," he said heavily, massaging his brow with his fingers. "Not at all."

"Oh." Minerva pursed her lips, looking speculatively at him. "It seemed to be fine the first, few days."

"Yes. Then I discovered her writing to her boyfriend, and I … I got angry."

He saw surprise on Minerva's face. "A boyfriend? I wasn't aware that she had any love interests, or else I would have protested against this marriage more fervently."

"Yes," he said again, sighing.

"Well, who's this boyfriend?" Minerva said, looking at him with something he could only read as compassion. It was as he had expected, but still, being pitied galled him.

" _Victor Krum_ ," he sneered.

Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "That's … impossible."

"No, she stated it quite clearly, saying the exact words: 'he was my boyfriend'."

"You don't read the gossip columns much, do you?" the witch said, a playful smile tugging at her mouth.

"No," he said darkly, adding: "This is no laughing matter, Minerva. Think about the girl…"

She interrupted him quickly: "Severus, Krum is engaged to a Bulgarian co-player, and has been so for more than a year. I believe you might have missed the past tense in Madam Snape's message."

He gaped at her, before groaning, hiding his head in his hands.

Minerva patted his shoulder briefly, before saying: "You say you got angry, what did you do, Severus?"

Groaning again, he mumbled: "I might have said another witch's name."

"Sorry?" he could hear the confusion lacing Minerva's voice, before she caught on. "Gods, Severus, not during…?"

"Yes," he admitted, feeling a fresh bout of shame erupt in his chest.

"Morgana's tits, she should have hexed your balls off," the witch snapped, "no wonder if it isn't working out for the two of you. This is a serious offence, Severus! No witch would stand for this."

He was silent for a while, trying to overcome the insistent voice in his head, taunting him: _You destroyed this yourself, like you destroyed everything with Lily all those years ago. You're a sorry bastard, no wonder the girl hates you._

Minerva cleared her throat, saying softly: "I had no idea you had another witch. Why didn't you say so to Albus, and why haven't you married her?"

"Because she's dead," he said curtly, looking at the wall. _Even the tapestry had a tartan pattern_ , and he snorted to himself _._

"Dead?" His colleague looked stunned. Then she blinked, and said nervously: "Merlin, Severus, it isn't, it can't be, or … is it?"

"Yes." His voice was almost not audible, but it felt _good_ to admit it to someone else, besides Albus.

The silence was heavy, pregnant with meaning.

Minerva gave a great sigh, before saying softly: "Harry…"

Suddenly furious, he spat at her: "Why do you think I hate him? He should have been _mine_ , Minerva! All I see are _her_ eyes, and sometimes when I see his hair colour… Then I see _Potter's_ face, and it makes me sick! And now, I ended up with _Lily's son's best friend_ as an unwilling wife!" He fell silent again, breath agitated as he slurped the rest of his whisky.

"Severus," the witch said, her blue-grey eyes holding his gaze with a tender look. "I may not be one to talk, but… Lay the dead to rest, work with what you have. Go home, apologize to your little witch. I think she must feel awful if she thinks you want someone else."

Xxxx

He stalked through his chambers to the bedroom, mind in uproar, and he still had no idea what to do. It was a week since their last, disastrous coupling, and the Ministry requirement of sex once a week would have to be fulfilled tonight. All his promises to himself of doing better had gone to hell, and all he had done was to exacerbate the tension between them. _And Krum wasn't even her boyfriend. He had wronged her._ Swallowing the bile threatening to fill his mouth, he entered the bedroom.

The lights were dimmed, except one gently, bobbing reading light over the black sheets of his bed.

She sat primly in his bed, clearly aware of what day it was, as he could see she had forgone her flannel pajamas. Instead, she was naked, reading a long scroll. _Probably ancient, probably a treatise on the marriage Vows, still trying to get away from me_ , he thought bitterly _. Merlin, he couldn't do this. He had no idea how to apologize for his behaviour. Tomorrow,_ his cowardly heart said to him, _you'll apologize tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow…,_ his mind mocked him.

"Turn around," he ordered brusquely, not meeting her eyes.

She looked up from her scroll, mouth set in a grim line, and replied sternly: "We have to talk."

"Really," he said coolly, sitting down on the bed to kick off his boots.

"Yes," she said equally cold. "I will not tolerate you moaning about another witch again. I will also not tolerate you treating me like a common whore, to be used as a _hole_ for you to empty yourself in."

His head whipped around, and he stared at the little lioness in his bed, shoulders set for a fight, eyes frightened and ashamed, but still adamant. _Brave,_ he thought, with something akin to admiration.

Looking away from her, he silently continued undressing. As he rose to take off his trousers, she repeated, a little shrilly: "Did you hear me? I will not do this, unless you…"

He interrupted her rudely, saying: "It's not a matter of what we want or not. We both have to go through with this, however unpleasant we find it."

She recoiled as if he had struck her, and he felt himself tense. Anger was all he knew how to express, and he lashed out: "You're one to talk, you're not letting yourself even try to enjoy it."

The girl blushed deeply, and asked, a little haltingly: "What do you mean by not letting myself enjoy it? How _can_ I enjoy it, when you make it into your rape fantasy?"

"Not _that_ ," he said tiredly, "I meant the second night. You stopped me, just as you were getting somewhere." _Gods, how did this go so wrong, so quickly?_

"I don't know," she said, and by her answer, he realized he had spoken out loud. "But we're in this together, forever as it seems, and we just can't go on like this." Her lips quivered, and again, he was struck by how _young_ she really was. Yet, she was behaving more like a responsible adult than himself. "It was … difficult for me when you're moaning about someone else. I don't want that again. And I don't want to feel like you're just using me."

"I understand that", he said, rubbing his face. Taking a deep breath, he said: "I thought Krum was your boyfriend. I thought you had the gall to write him, knowing full well I could read it over your shoulder. I thought you did it just to spite me."

"Oh…" her mouth was a tiny o, as she exhaled slowly. Then she said, frowning: "I thought you knew, I mean, everyone knows he's about to marry his co-player. We're just friends."

"Minerva told me," he said, glaring down at his hands.

Her voice was suddenly shrill, the register of her voice climbing: "You told Professor McGonagall about what happened?"

He shot her a glance, and almost chuckled by her look of wild panic. "No, of course not everything, you silly chit," he scoffed. "I told her I thought you were involved with Krum, nothing else."

"Thank Merlin," she whispered fervently. She felt silent for a while, as he finished undressing, but kept casting nervous glances at him. His treacherous cock twitched with the expectation of entering her, and he felt a surge of desire as her eyes became glued to his bobbing erection.

He cleared his throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable and out of his depths, but he had to say it. "Hermione, I … I tend to like it a bit rough. I should have moderated myself, especially when I was angry with you. I know you don't want this, you don't want _me_ , but my temper overruled what rational thoughts I had about going gently. I can't blame you for hating it, and me. But make no mistake, I do _not_ enjoy forcing an unwilling witch." _There. It was out, an apology of sorts, and now she could do what she pleased with the information._

She blushed again, swallowing a few times before she whispered: "You did make it nice for me the second night, but I …need so much time for anything to …happen, I didn't think you wanted to keep going that long, and I'm not sure if I could make it – it's so embarrassing, so new, so … awkward," she stopped herself, looking mortified, her face a deep scarlet colour.

Blinking, he said slowly: "You didn't think I would bother to even try to make you come?"

"No," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Why?" he blurted out.

Her eyes flitted around, before she said with a sheepish smile: "I don't think you're all that patient."

He snorted, and said: "You will find, witch, that I actually will enjoy your arousal. A lot."

The girl wasn't able to look him in the eyes, she stared firmly down on her folded hands, shoulders hunched. He could see the stress and the tension almost radiating visibly from her.

Severus sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands, and said: "Never mind, we still have to do this tonight, or we'll be very uncomfortable come morning."

"I know," she said softly, darting a quick glance at him. He felt something tug inside, as she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. _A kiss. He had never tried to kiss her. Would she like that, or would it be too invading?_

Cursing his own cowardice, he knew he wouldn't dare. Instead, he swung his legs into the bed _,_ and crawled up to her. Her eyes were downcast still, but he let his fingers trail lightly over her shoulder, teasing her neck, without dipping down to her breasts. _Those lovely tits, he ached to see them._ Pulling down the sheets, he took them in, in all their soft, firm glory, and his cock jerked, and he felt a droplet pooling at the tip. _He wasn't up to kiss her mouth, but he'd go for her tits instead._ His tongue flicked out to a nipple, tickling it, before he followed up by his mouth. She flinched slightly, giving off a tiny gasp, and his hand found her other breast.

The tension was still riding high in her body, and he could feel she wasn't relaxing at all. Stroking her gently and firmly, he let his hand move downwards to the apex of her silky thighs. She twitched slightly, still high-strung, and involuntary clenched her legs together.

He just kept stroking her mound, and gradually, she relaxed her legs, but she was still on the alert, like she expected an attack. Gently, he teased her folds, finding her somewhat moist, but not wet, and he decided to help her with the spell.

"Just to get you started," he murmured against her nipple, and whispered: " _Lubricatem"._ Now, his fingers could slip easily between her folds, tickling her nub gently, and she squirmed against him, breath moving a little faster. Curling his finger, flicking at her nub, giving her gentle strokes down towards her entrance, he slowly and methodically tried to make her enjoy the experience. His cock was twitching in anticipation, but after a good while, he started to wonder if she really was too tense, too nervous, too afraid to let herself feel pleasure. Or maybe she was just too disgusted by him to feel _anything_. Severus felt more than a little awkward, clumsy and stupid for not eliciting any more reaction from her than a few moans, but he kept on stroking her.

Suddenly, he noted tears falling from her eyes. He stopped, and pulled her into his arms instead. "Now what?" he said, aiming for a gentle tone, but resulting in gruffness. _Teenagers and their tender sensibilities,_ he thought to himself, hoping that he hadn't insulted her again.

"I don't think I can do it," she whimpered, "I feel so … tense, so embarrassed."

He petted her hair, before asking carefully: "You have made yourself orgasm on your own?"

Again, she reddened, and she whispered: "Yes, but it takes a lot of time."

"It'll come with time," he said reassuringly, sounding more certain than he felt – _what if she'll never orgasm with me?_ – and she sniffled. _Merlin, those tits felt so good pressed into him, and the swell of her hips made his eager cock jump. It should be inappropriate, even he knew that, to be so fucking horny when all she did was crying._ He tried to comfort himself: _At least, she was wet this time, a little._

"It's a quarter to midnight," she pointed out between sobs, ever the diligent Miss Know-it-all.

"Yes," he said, pulling her leg over his thigh. Directing his now weeping cock to her entrance, he pushed the bulbous head of his cock inside, gasping at the sensation when her walls squeezed around the sensitive spot underneath his corona. He thrust hard to fill her up, enter her fully, and cupped her arse with his hand to keep her pressed against him. Fumbling, his other hand found her wet slit, rubbing the little nub. The new position excited him more than it should, and he felt close to bursting after a few thrusts.

"You feel so good for me," he murmured, "so good, your pussy so tight around my cock. Can you feel me stretching your walls? Your cunt massages my cock so deliciously, so tight…" Groaning, he embarrassingly enough realized he was about to spill himself in a few moments. Thrusting harder, he panted into her hair, his hand rubbing her clit faster. "Gods, Hermione, you're so beautiful, so hot, next time, I'll lick your sweet cunt, letting my tongue work through your pussy, oh, clench around me, squeeze your cunt around my cock, I'm going to come, deep into your tight hole, OH!"

He was gasping, jerking and twitching, as the orgasm tore through him violently, his balls tightening and emptying his load into her. When he came down from his unexpected, quick high, he met her eyes, still buried deep inside her. This time, at least she didn't cry, and her eyes were big and dark as she watched him.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _This might be one of the dirtiest stories I've ever written. Blame it on Severus, he's the one with the filthy mouth!_

 _But seriously: Our dark and brooding wizard may be intelligent, but he's still wonderfully clueless to what's happening in Hermione's head, not to mentioning his own heart._

 _Are you up for more awkwardness? I have a couple of more ideas to bring some resolution to this, but I'm not going to turn this originally-a-oneshot-story into a twenty-chaptered monster. I might try to wrap it up (as far as it would go) in one or two more chapters._

 _Chapter title drop: "Jealousy is one of the wickedest of all the passions. It is that which has been the most fruitful mother of tragedies, murders, and wars. But reprehensible though it is, jealousy is almost rather to be pitied than blamed-its first victims are those who harbour the feeling."  
\- Arthur Lynch_


	5. Fear of Failure

_**A/N**_ : _More awkwardness coming up, but also on a somewhat more gentle note than the last chapter. Thanks for reviewing, favoriting and following! You rock, and make me write more on this story than I ever dreamed of. Yes, I'm a sucker for attention! *laughs*_

* * *

She woke up, nestled into his arms again. This time, though, she didn't jump away from his touch, instead, she listened to the steady thump of his heart. Her husband, the mean teacher, the Death Eater, or rather, the pretend Death Eater, the brave Order spy, was sleeping heavily beside her. He might be a hero in his own way, but still, it bothered her greatly to see him in his cloak and mask. She kept wondering if he had been on the raid that captured and tortured her parents, though she thought rather not. At least, she didn't think Dumbledore would force her to marry her parents' murderer.

Banishing those thoughts from her mind, she stretched slightly, realizing she was still a little sore, wondering when those after-effects would cease. _Or maybe he was too big for her?_ She blushed, having very little to compare him to, but he was very tall, and his … cock – _the word tasted unfamiliar on her tongue, though **he** certainly had no qualms in using such words – _did look rather large to her.

Feeling embarrassed, she supposed he had made an effort to make it good for her last night, after his atrocious behavior over the last weeks. The fact that he didn't make her come yesterday, was no fault of his. It was only her own, _stupid_ inability to relax, to let him please her, to let herself go over the brink of orgasm. _Maybe there was something wrong with her._ The stress and uncertainty she felt when he was trying, only made her more nervous and tense. _Morgana, he must have been exasperated, thinking her to be a stupid, little girl. He probably resented the fact that she wasn't an adult witch, experienced and in control of her body. She was willing to bet he thought her tits too small, her frame too skinny…_

Wincing in shame, she pressed her cheek into his chest, and he woke. With a great sigh, he stretched himself, pulling her firmly to him, stroking her back. She tensed up, before she allowed herself to melt back into his body. They were both quiet for a long while, as if he too waited for her to break away, destroying the intimacy.

"Are you alright?" he said softly, after what felt like years. His deep voice rumbled in his chest, tickling her cheek pressed into his body, and she almost had to smile by the sensation.

"Yes," she said, nodding. Hesitantly, she asked: "And you?"

She could hear the surprise in his voice, as he said: "I'm fine, thank you." He petted her hair slowly, and she wondered if people usually didn't bother to ask him how he was. _Because, who would, really? Some of the other teachers? Voldemort or the Death Eaters? Or,_ she almost froze, _did he have a family? Parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles?_

Blinking, she realized she didn't know. Harry had told her he had seen glimpses of a brutal father and a cowering mother, but she had no idea if they were still alive. Somehow, she felt deeply ashamed. _A wife should know these things about her husband. This … This was the real proof of their marriage being a sham. He hadn't even bothered to tell her, and she hadn't cared enough to ask. If the marriage vows really bound them for the rest of their life, she would have to remedy that._

Conversationally, he stated: "So there really was no Krum for you."

"Umm, no, only a few kisses," she said nervously, hand on his chest twitching, afraid he might suddenly become inexplicably angry again.

"And what about anyone else? Weasley or Potter, perhaps?"

Brows furrowing, she said: "Are you asking me about past boyfriends? Why?"

He sighed, and to her shock he admitted: "I want to know, I keep thinking about it."

Incredulous, she raised her head from his chest, looking at him. He stared at her with those deep, black eyes, with a defiant expression.

"You keep thinking about it," she repeated, skepticism heavy in her voice. "Luckily for you, there's not much to think about. Kissing Victor Krum, snogging my Muggle neighbor last summer, and that's it. Harry is like my brother, and Ron, no, nothing ever happened."

His sudden expression of relief was miniscule, only a slight contraction of his facial muscles. _But for Severus Snape, it was the equivalent of shouting from the rooftops_ , she thought. _Why was he relieved? He couldn't be jealous, could he?_ Hermione felt like giggling, burrowing her head into his chest again, hiding herself underneath her hair. To her surprise, she enjoyed being so close to him, especially when he stroked her back like that _._ She almost managed to ignore the feel of the thick, long, hard member twitching against her body.

Then her mouth thinned. _It wasn't fair for him to interrogate her on past boyfriends. He was one to talk, who had groaned that other witch's name. Lil, or something, wasn't it?_ She looked up to him, face stern, and said: "And what about you, _husband,_ moaning another witch's name? Who is she?"

His face closed off immediately, and he said shortly: "She's dead. Long gone."

Hermione blinked. _Dead?_ "Did you love her?", she blurted out.

He grimaced a little, before answering: "Yes."

"Was she a Death Eater?"

"Absolutely not!" he barked indignantly, glaring furiously at her.

"Sorry!" she said, throwing up her hands, "I was just asking. Just … don't say her name, when…"

He interrupted her, voice calming into his deep, measured manner of speaking: "I won't. I shouldn't have done that." Suddenly, he started. "Merlin's bollocks! It's late. We need to hurry!"

She blinked, as he almost jumped out the bed with a flowing grace, reaching the bathroom in a few long strides. Checking the time, she realized he was right indeed. There was no time to wait for him to come out the bathroom. Moving slowly after him, she looked down at herself, cursing herself for not cleaning up afterwards yesterday. She was definitively in need of a shower, with his dried semen on her thighs, and she really didn't smell all that good either.

Entering the bathroom, she saw he already had the shower running. _And he **still** had that jutting erection. _Blushing fiercely, she stepped into the shower to him. He seemed startled, but stepped aside, giving her room underneath the shower head too. She grabbed her soap, starting to lather herself with it, and she saw him shoot covert glances at her, obviously fascinated by seeing her rubbing herself in, and she couldn't help noticing his penis bobbing a little.

Brow furrowing, she also noted that he didn't seem to wash his hair. In the past weeks, she already had registrered the fact that the man didn't seem to own a bottle of shampoo. _No wonder it's greasy,_ she almost snorted to herself. Without thinking, she asked: "Would you like me to wash your hair?"

He stiffened, glaring down at her, and said curtly, clearly affronted: "No."

Shrugging, she wondered why he was so prickly. _It seemed like he would interpret the most innocent remarks as an insult. Why was he so defensive, did he really think everyone meant him harm? What kind of experiences did he have to make him so easily offended?_

She wondered how she could appease him, being quite certain he would not appreciate an apology. _She had meant no harm, but his hair was obviously a touchy point. The whole point, for now, would be to build their future relationship on friendlier terms than before,_ she admonished herself.

He turned from her, his whole body radiating irritation and discomfort. Everything about him seemed forbidding, except that hard, bobbing erection, and she remembered him masturbating in the shower. The sight of him tugging at his cock, that big, swollen head nestled firmly in his large hand, had shocked her, and she had wondered if this was something he did often. _To build a relationship…,_ she thought. Swallowing, forcing down her own objections, she reached out her hand, touching it lightly, and said: "Do you want me to help you with that?"

He turned to her, looking incredulous. She stroked him a little more, and he closed his eyes, a small groan slipping from him. Droplets of water ran down his hard, lean body, glistening in his chest hair and in the thick, black nest around his member. _Sure, he was thin, but muscular too._ She suddenly felt pleasantly aware of how very tall he was compared to herself. Her head reached just below his shoulders, and the tip of his long cock almost reached the lower part of her breasts.

His hand came around hers, engulfing it, and he guided her hand, showing her how he liked to be touched. He obviously wanted her to squeeze harder than she had dared. Clasping him firmly, she felt him silky smooth to the touch, with hard ridges and veins, and she pulled at him a little faster than before, being rewarded by his breathing getting ragged. He was staring down at her, like he had never seen her before, those black eyes so deeply penetrating that she wondered if he was trying to see her soul. _Maybe he was, at that,_ she conceded, _he was a Legilimens._ She averted her eyes from his face, not wanting him in her head again, focusing on his cock, noticing how the head seemed to swell, changing colour into a deep, almost purplish read. He gave a grunt, grabbing her shoulder to steady himself, and he murmured: "I want to come all over that lovely chest of yours, glazing your tits, covering you as I come."

She stepped closer to him, lowering her upper body to let the tip of his cock graze her breasts, and he groaned, cock jerking in her hand, as white, glistening strands shot from him, landing on her chest in great spurts. He panted, squeezing her shoulder, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"That was unexpected," he said gruffly, "but I suppose I should thank you."

She nodded, stared with fascination at the white stuff covering her. Not being able to help herself, her curiosity taking hold of her again, she rubbed her finger through it, feeling the strange, slick, but still sticky texture of it. Without thinking, she put her finger in her mouth, tasting it. _It was salty, a little bitter. Not entirely unpleasant, though it didn't taste good either._ She gathered some more on her finger, and licked it off, trying to decide how she felt about the taste.

He grunted, and her eyes shot up to him, and she blushed, her finger still in her mouth. Her husband was staring at her with an odd, lust-filled expression, and he almost groaned: "Do you know what you're doing, little witch? If you keep on doing that, you may as well start over again. You look … tempting."

Xxxx

She rolled her eyes at the _Prophet_ , which brought a story on her and Snape in the gossip column. "HONEYMOON IN THE HOGWARTHS DUNGEON", the title read, and the article spouted some absolute drivel on them both looking tired and drawn, because they apparently spent so much time together behind closed doors, implying that all they did was having wild sex.

"Gods, do they even check their sources?" she said, waving the paper to the boys. They both snorted, and Harry said: "You know her modus operandi. Skeeter doesn't care at all for the truth, she just writes whatever strikes her fancy."

"Yes", she mused, wondering if she had to send another threat to Skeeter, as well as finding out if she had any Hogwarts sources for the rumours. After all, she _knew_ she had been looking tired and drawn lately, but how would Skeeter know?

As she walked to Defense, right after breakfast, with Harry and Ron, she noticed Ron peering at her.

"You do look a little better today," he said carefully. "Did you sleep well?"

A rush of emotions welled up in her, and she almost teared up. _Wasn't she lucky to have such wonderful friends? So caring, so_ _protective of her._ She smiled at him, blinking away the tears, answering softly: "Thank you, Ron, I slept well. I feel better today, a little more cheerful, perhaps."

"Did something happen?" Harry said, equally careful. "Did he treat you decently last night?"

She blushed, not really equating what they had done last night as something _decent._ Shrugging it away, she said: "It was nice."

They both stared at her, mouths open, before Ron blushed, horribly, deeply red, averting his eyes from her. She almost laughed out loud, realizing that Ron had just imagined something very inappropriate.

Lavender came running after them, squeezing into Ron's arm, and squealed: "Won-Won! There you are, baby. Will you partner with me today?"

Harry and Hermione shared an amused, but resigned look. Hermione leaned in to him, murmuring: "Will you partner with me, _Hal-Hal?"_

Harry snorted, trying to stifle a laugh as they entered the classroom, because no one ever laughed in Severus Snape's classroom, especially not Harry Potter.

They sat down at their desks, and after a short while, the doors crashed open, and her husband came striding in, doors banging shut behind him. Her eyes followed him, and seeing him like this, robes billowing, and frock coat all buttoned up, a stern, unforgiving look on his face, she couldn't believe she had dared to touch him like that. Now, in full teaching mode, he looked like he would hex anyone who moved. She knew from experience, he would not hesitate to pounce on anyone for the smallest of transgressions, real or imagined. _Still, she had stroked his member without asking, only forty-five minutes ago. Moreover, she couldn't believe that **he** had allowed it, scary and forbidding as he seemed now. Still, he had enjoyed it. _

"Today, I will talk about the Body Binding Curse, and you will later attempt to curse each other wordlessly. Feeble as your attempts will be, I expect that at least a few of you will succeed. Those who are successfully bound, may attempt to break the curse wordlessly and wandlessly." He stopped, sneering at the students, and continued his lecture on the curse. "Many of you think this is an easy curse, used by young wizards and witches with ease, but it is actually one of the trickiest to cast wordlessly, not to mention that breaking out of the curse is an excellent exercise in wordless and wandless magic…"

She dutifully took notes, but her thoughts still slid to what had happened in the shower. _Why had he reacted like that when she had tasted his seed?_ Suddenly blushing, she realized that he must have envisioned her giving him a blow job. _Did he want her to do that? Obviously, it was something that turned him on, a lot, as it seemed from his reaction._ He was still talking, explaining the properties of the curse and why it was difficult to cast without saying the incantation out loud.

 _Did he like to teach,_ she suddenly wondered. For all his sneering and sarcastic remarks, he had stayed at Hogwarts for a long time, and now, he was teaching the subject he had always wanted to teach. Again, she thought that it shouldn't be possible to be married to someone, and know so little about them.

Her thoughts wandered further, to the dead woman with the name "Lil". _Was this someone he had met at Hogwarts, or later in his life?_ Suddenly feeling aggravated by thinking of that _stupid_ woman, making him moan her name years after her death, she thinned her lips. _She had probably been really beautiful, with lots of sexual experience, who orgasmed at his slightest touch… Herself, she might be skinny and her chest might be on the small side, but she was alive, at least. She'd make him moan her own name, forgetting about that silly, dead bint, whoever she was!_ Narrowing her eyes at him, her lips broke out into a devilish little smile, and she put her finger into her mouth again, sucking on it.

His glance passed over the room, and she felt a deep pleasure when his eyes suddenly jerked back at her. He continued lecturing, though his eyes slid back to her several times.

Deciding to up the ante, she put another finger in her mouth, and the next time his eyes found her, she licked the fingers with the tip of her tongue. His voice faltered, making the class raise their heads to look at him, the sound of scratching quills dying out, and then he grimaced as he continued talking, steadfastly looking away from her.

Secretly pleased, she showed two fingers deep into her mouth, sucking on them, and after a while, his eyes returned to her. This time, he actually stopped talking for several moments, staring at her with his mouth slightly open, eyes burning at her. She removed her fingers from her mouth, and looked back at him with a neutral expression. The students looked back and forth at them, not understanding what this was about. _Whooping with laughter on the inside, she was quite sure that she was the only student, ever, to make Severus Snape lose track of his lesson._

Looking angrily at her, he barked: "Get up from your desks, pair up, and get ready to curse each other!"

Both Harry and she managed the wordless spell easily, but they were both struggling with breaking the curse. Her husband kept well away from them the whole lesson, to Harry's great relief, and she was sure he performed much better for it. Herself, she was starting to have some serious misgivings about what she had done. _If he confronted her, what would she do or say? Should she pretend it to be an innocent mistake? He would never believe that,_ _and she didn't want him to root around in her head again, finding out about her anger at that dead witch._

Sure enough, when the lesson ended, he said silkily: "Madam Snape, if you would stay behind, please."

She nodded nervously, waiting for the rest of the students to file out of the room. He closed the doors, warding the room and putting up a Silencing spell too. _Oh no, this didn't bode well._

Stalking towards her, she felt the intimidating force of his glare strongly, and she deliberately didn't meet his eyes. Backing off, away from him, her back met the wall, and he moved in, pinning her down.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?" he growled.

"Nothing," she said defiantly.

He snorted derisively, black eyes glittering with rage. "I know you realize full well what you did. _Why_ did you do it?"

A realization hit her like lightening. _He was so enraged because she had found a weakness, a chink in his armour. Severus Snape was not used to people coming on to him, caring for him and his needs or teasing him. He had no defenses for that._

She couldn't help a triumphant smile breaking out. Meeting his eyes, she said smugly: "It worked, didn't it?"

Taken aback at her brazenness, he took a small step back, blinking at her.

"Worked?" he hissed at her, his fury building again. " _Worked?_ **Madam** Snape," he said, emphasizing the title, "you will do no such things in my class, do you hear that?"

"Yes sir," she said meekly, still with a smug smile. _She had one up on Severus Snape. It was unbelievable. It felt like a momentous shift in the power balance. He might be older, stronger, more experienced and much more powerful, but she had something which made him weak too. He would be defenseless against her attentions._

Stepping into her again with a menacing look, his eyes bored into hers, voice falling into a silky drop: "Or else, little temptress, I will expect you to go through with what you so blatantly are teasing me with."

His thumb came up, and he caressed her bottom lip, briefly, before moving away, saying curtly: "You may go."

Hurrying out of his classroom, she wasn't so sure anymore on who had won this round.

Xxxx

She had already gone to bed, curling up on her side, tired after a long day, when he arrived. As he shuffled under the covers to her, she could tell he was a little drunk, even though the room was pitch dark. He smelt like Firewhisky and woodsmoke again, and she wondered where he went for a drink. _Hogsmeade, perhaps? Or did he go to Diagon Alley?_

He extended his hand to her side, snaking it around to her belly, rubbing her slightly. His breathing was fast, and suddenly, she realized that he was _nervous. Sweet Morgana,_ she thought, _Severus Snape is nervous._ She guessed he was unsure of how his advances would be received. After all, they had already fulfilled the Ministry requirement for the next week, and this wasn't her fertile period. He was probably uncertain if she would reject him or not.

Hermione lay still, letting him slowly touch her, splaying his long fingers across her belly, not really sure herself on how to respond. _She_ had teased him earlier in the day, and in a way, she felt like she had brought this upon herself. It wouldn't be awful, she was fairly certain, but it was exhausting and a bit humiliating, trying futilely to let him turn her on.

Suddenly, he pulled her roughly into him, his hand moving up to her breasts, cupping her. _Oh well,_ she thought, _I took too long in deciding, and he took it upon him to make the choice. No wonder, he was nothing short of dominant,_ she thought _._ She didn't mind, really, but still, she felt herself tense.

Growling, he muttered " _Divesto"_ , ridding her of her pajamas. His mouth fell on her nipple, and she arched her back with the sudden rush of pleasure. Grabbing his hair, ignoring the greasy feel of it, she gasped with the sensation, as his clever tongue rolled her nipple between his teeth, scraping her lightly.

"You little temptress, looking so wanton in my classroom," he muttered, "making me go all day imagining my cock between your lips. And you know what? I want to lick your pussy too, to make you enjoy it."

Blinking, she felt him scramble over her on all fours, and then his large cock hung swollen in front of her face, as his head simultaneously lowered between her thighs. As his tongue flicked at her slit, she jerked, gasping, as a burning tendril shot through her belly. At the same time, she stiffened. _What if she wasn't clean enough? What if she didn't taste or smell good? If she had known this would happen, she would have made sure to wash herself more carefully._

He breathed against her nether lips: "You like that, don't you?" His tongue delved into her slit, lapping at her opening and giving her a long, smooth stroke ending at her clit. Her legs quivered a little, and she felt him smile against her mound. One hand came around her arse, snaking over her sex, and he pushed one, long finger inside her, slowly, while his tongue rubbed circles around her nub.

"Lick my cock, suck me," he commanded her, and thrust his cock in the general direction of her mouth. She blinked, having almost forgotten she had a task too. _Well, at least she'd try._ With one, fumbling hand, she grabbed the base of his cock, and she slowly, tentatively swiped her tongue over the head. _It tasted musk and salt._ Licking her lips nervously, she opened her mouth to capture the large, bulbous head, sucking on it lightly.

He groaned against her mound, pushing his cock down into her mouth, and the warm exhalation from his mouth tickled her sex. With her hand, she tried to direct him into shallower thrusts into her mouth.

"Suck harder," he groaned, the muscles of his thighs quivering, and she hollowed her cheeks as she wrapped her lips more firmly around his shaft.

"Yes, that's it," he grunted, his hips moving faster. The things he did to her down there felt good, but she concentrated so hard on not getting his cock down her throat, that she barely registered that something pleasant was going on. It wasn't as if she was averse to take him deeper, she merely felt that she wanted some semblance of control – and that was hard to come by, as more than six feet of wizard was crouched above her, and a large cock was firmly lodged in her mouth.

"You taste so good," he breathed, burrowing his large nose in her folds, almost making her squeal around his cock. _It tickled, and it felt so deliciously good!_ His finger was pumping into her, curling, and she tried to clench around him, as he continued talking:

"Your sweet pussy is starting to get so wet, to feel that hard, little nub, your tight opening around my finger and the way you smell…". At that his hips thrust harder, deeper into her mouth, as he grunted staccato in time with his thrusts: "You … make … me … so … I'm … going … to come…" he panted, gasping as he arched his back, and she barely had time to widen her eyes in shock as he stiffened, his cock swelling to an impossible size and hardness, before it jerked forward, driving deep into her mouth. There was nothing to it, she had to swallow it all or choke on his seed, but to her surprise, it wasn't unpleasant or gross.

He shivered, standing on all fours above her, his head hanging down, the strands of his hair grazing her belly. Moving to lay beside her, he asked, breathlessly: "Did you swallow it all?"

"Yes," she whispered, happy that he couldn't see her fierce blush in the darkness.

"Good girl," he said tiredly, before asking: "Do you want me to continue, to get you over the edge?"

Her mind was immediately a cacophony of voices. _Yes, it was good, make him do it!_ a part of her shouted, while another said unhappily: _You won't make it, it will all be for nothing, you know that._

A third voice said snidely: _He'll just think you're a stupid girl who can't manage to come, he's probably wondering if you are frigid and why he was saddled with such a sad creature as you._

 _He's only asking to be polite, he doesn't really want to,_ _he doesn't care about you,_ a fourth voice whispered insidiously. Hermione felt herself swallow her disappointment in herself, and whispered to him: "Not right now."

He smoothed her curls away from her neck, and she suddenly felt how sweaty she was. _Gods, he must think me disgusting!_ The thought shot through her like a bolt of lightning, and she stiffened.

His hand stilled, and he withdrew it slowly. His deep voice gruff, he asked her: "Didn't you like it?"

"Yes," she said hurriedly, "It was good, I'm not sure…"

She could almost feel his eyes rolling, as he said: "Next time, I'll get you drunk. Then you'll loosen up a little."

"What?!" she protested angrily, "you can't do that, it's unethical to take advantage of…"

Surprisingly enough, he chuckled. "It's a time-honoured means for wizards and Muggle men alike to get a woman into their bed," he said, "all ethical considerations aside."

"Hmpfh," she grunted, feeling insulted – but also a little flattered that her arousal actually meant something to him, at least enough for him to tease her. _That fourth, whispering voice in her head, the one who said he didn't care, no, she did not want to listen to that._

xxxx

She stomped into his – their – living room, a quarter to curfew, throwing her bag of books down with a loud _thunk_. Growling, she said: "And I can't see how anyone could believe him!"

"Fascinating," he drawled, sitting by his desk, grading essays. "And who is this, if I may be so bold? Dumbledore? The Dark Lord? The Minister? Or is it merely one of your dull-witted friends?"

"Harry, of course," she growled angrily. "Don't tell me Slughorn hasn't been raving to you too about Harry's fantastic progress in Potions?"

He put down his quill, looking at her with something close to amusement, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "As a matter of fact, he has at least tried to say it, though I can't say I have been willing to listen." Narrowing his eyes at her, he said: "And has this actually happened outside Horace's imagination?"

"Of course not!", she scoffed. "He's cheating! Harry found someone's old Potion book, and it has loads of tips for improvement."

His eyebrows rose almost into his hairline, and he tapped his quill lightly against his pursed lips. "Tell me, doesn't Potter know that it is most unwise to take advice from books like that?"

She threw him an exasperated look. "Don't think I haven't told him, but the book appears to be just a normal schoolbook filled with notes and comments. I have checked it for spells and curses."

"Does it say who it belonged to previously?"

She couldn't understand why his eyes glittered like that, like he was having _fun_ at her expense, but she replied bitterly: "Someone named the Half-Blood Prince. I can't find any information on this person."

His lips widened into a grin, showing off his uneven teeth fully, as he rose, giving her a grand bow, and pointed to himself: "I give you the Half-blood Prince."

Mouth gaping, she stuttered: "You… Harry's got… _your_ book?"

Smirking at her, he said: "I consider it a feat worthy of a prize, if I finally managed to teach Potter something about Potions, though it is through my seventeen year old self." His face back into the stern, usual expression, he said impassively: "Be sure to warn Potter that some of my incantations in that book are dangerous, dark even."

Her eyes flashing, she said shrilly: "Are you going to let him keep it, YOU of all people? This is cheating! He's getting all O's and he doesn't deserve them!"

The corners of his mouth tugged, and he said: "Are you jealous of Potter's good grades, little Mrs. Know-it-all?"

She wanted to shout her frustration at him, but checked herself, her chest heaving, giving him only a glare.

Still obviously in an infuriatingly good mood, he said to her as he sat down to continue his marking: "You shouldn't be. You have the source right here – just ask."

Mouth agape, she forgot her anger, saying incredulously: "I can ask you questions about Potions? Will you, _can_ you give me private tutoring?" Her eyes were shining, and he groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Yes, Madam Snape, I can do that. But do not envision me going through everything on the sixth years curriculum with you. I expect you to ask for help with brews or theories you find difficult. I will not spend my evenings watching you brew just for the sake of your competition with Potter."

Turning to her again, his face was serious. "I will, however, need to teach you Occlumency. It might come in handy. Can you arrange to be back here at eight tomorrow night?"

Xxxx

The Occlumency last night had been a good start, even _he_ had grudgingly admitted it, and not even the _Prophet's_ stupid, new story on "ALL IS NOT WELL WITH THE NEWLYWEDS" could threaten her good mood. It was just after breakfast, and she was being transported on the moving stairs up to Dumbledore's office, her husband standing right behind her.

"Good morning, Madam Snape, Severus," Dumbledore said, and she almost gasped in shock on seeing him close up. The Headmaster was much thinner than before, skin papery white and wrinkled, and he moved slowly like he was in pain. The blackened hand hung limp on the desk.

"Can I tempt you…?" the old wizard asked, but the tall, dark wizard beside her snorted derisively. " _No_ , Albus. I won't risk your pranks, and I should not want my wife to be subjected to one of them either."

Hermione goggled at the Headmaster. _Had he done something to the sweets?_ _That … was unexpected._ Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously at her, giving her a wink.

"How are you – both of you?" the old wizard said, sitting down in his chair with a groan.

"Fine," they both said, simultaneously, and then their eyes met, looking surprised at the other's answer.

"Good," Dumbledore said faintly. Swallowing heavily, he waved his blackened arm slowly, Conjuring a tea service on top of his desk. "A cup of tea, then?" he inquired, and her husband nodded, motioning to her that this would be ok.

Pouring herself a cup of strong, black tea, she noted that the Headmaster seemed to have trouble moving the dead-looking arm. "Can I make you a cup?" she asked politely, and by Dumbledore's nod, she poured his tea, adding a dollop of milk after his request.

Cocking her head at her husband, she said: "And should I make yours too, while I'm at it?"

"Yes, please," he said calmly, accepting the cup from her. She knew by now that he took his tea black, and didn't even bother to ask him if he wanted milk or sugar.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and said to her: "I wanted to meet with you to impress upon you that you must help Severus. He needs information from you to maintain his act as a spy."

She nodded, having understood a long time ago that this question would pop up at some point.

"What kind of information?" she queried, looking down at her nails, not wanting to focus on the sad sight of Dumbledore's waning health.

"Anything, really," Dumbledore said, and Severus supplied: "He wants to know who Potter's seeing and who his friends are, his classes, his grades, his thoughts about the future and the Prophecy, and, of course, his plans for defeating the Dark Lord."

She pondered that for a while, he musings interrupted as one of the spindly instruments made a tinkling sound.

Her husband furrowed his brows, and said to the Headmaster: "Albus, I believe there's someone repeatedly breaking into Hogwarts. I've heard your ward detector almost every time I've been here lately, and I'm starting to worry."

Albus shrugged, and said: "They aren't doing anything harmful, or else the silver spindle would have given outcry."

Hermione almost bounced in her chair, as she looked back and forth to the two wizards and the instruments. "So these instruments are really connected to the castle's wards?" she said with a rush of excitement.

"Correct," the Headmaster said with a smile.

"And that one makes a sound if anyone breaks in, no matter what they do, while the other one only detects harmful spells?"

"Yes," he confirmed again.

Locking eyes with her husband, she said seriously: "The intruder is very likely someone from the _Daily Prophet._ Even though most of what they write about us are ridiculous things, I have thought they must have had some sources here at Hogwarts. With this, it might mean the reporters are entering themselves."

Severus' mouth spread out into a rather sinister grin, and he said silkily to Dumbledore: "Would you mind if we borrowed the ward detector?"

The old Headmaster furrowed his brow, and then he shrugged. "Please, help yourself. It might be good for you to familiarize yourself with the rest of the instruments too, Severus. Why don't you borrow the entire collection? Do alert me if there's anything wrong, though."

Hermione saw him pale at the Headmaster's words, and he looked troubled, swallowed heavily before nodding. "Of course, Albus, I appreciate that." _What was this? Why would Severus need to be familiar with these instruments?_

Xxxx

All students from the third year and up were lined up in the Entrance Hall. It was much too warm in the throng with their winter cloaks, hats, scarves and mittens, and Hermione felt red-faced, sweaty and slightly nauseous by all the mingling bodies around her. _Merlin, didn't people wash anymore?_ She could swear quite a few of them had showered in perfume, instead of water, and the faint smell of sweaty bodies underneath heavy scents of perfume were sickening. _She could almost swear she could smell the sex from last night on herself._

 _He had taken more time than before to arouse her, and while it felt good, nothing had happened for her. She hated the fact that he must be disappointed, but whatever he felt, she thought her disappointment in herself must surpass his by far. In the end, he had taken her, pumping into her from behind while she lay on the side, growling obscenities in her ear as he came. What was wrong with her? Why didn't she come? It wasn't as if she wanted to fail in this!_

"Silence!" boomed McGonagall's voice over the din, interrupting her thoughts. "Third years may come through to get their permissions checked, then fourth years and so on. Stay in line!"

At last, they were out in the refreshing cold, and she could finally breathe, enjoying the walk with her friends towards Hogsmeade. A light drizzle of snow fell over the landscape, decorating the trees into frosted, pretty figures. As they flitted in and out of the shops in the village, she noted that Severus was always in the vicinity, just in the corner of her eye, and she realized he was looking out for her. A warm, unexpected fuzzy feeling rose in her chest, and she gave him a brilliant smile in passing. Somewhere, she heard a faint _Poof!,_ like a camera suddenly went off, but she dragged the boys along to the bookshop _Spines and Ink_ , to find him a present.

"Gods, Hermione," Ron fretted, "I can't believe I'm spending my Hogsmeade time by trying to find _Snape_ a present!"

She smiled, preoccupied, as her eyes slid along the shelves, and said: "Go check out the sports section, Ron. I'm sure someone in your family would enjoy a Quidditch book for Christmas." Turning around, raising her voice after his retreating form, she added: "It's _Professor_ Snape, Ron!"

After an hour, she was satisfied, having bought a recently published book on magical theory for him, written by a French scholar. She barely understood half of it, and judged the content to be on a level that might be a challenge to him, too.

Having shrunk their packages and presents, they walked leisurely towards the Three Broomsticks. The pub was full, crammed with students, and the air was heavy with the smell of wet wool and warm people. Suddenly nauseous again, she decided that Butterbeer was absolutely the _last_ thing she wanted, opting for a mug of tea instead.

"A shot of Caramel Jinxlop Liquor to spike it?" Madam Rosmerta inquired with a mischievous smile, and she shook her head quickly.

"Just black tea, without milk please," she said, almost making a face at the suggestion. Looking around her, she saw her fellow students tuck into a hearty mutton stew, and the boys were almost tripping behind her to get to their order. "Could I have some plain toast, please, with butter?" she asked, and Madam Rosmerta looked searchingly at her.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"Maybe not today," she admitted, "I'd better be careful."

"Alright," the barmaid said with a big smile, "good luck, then," before she turned to Ron's admiring face. Hermione thought the exchange to be a little odd, but got a table for the three of them in a corner. As she sat down, nibbling at her toast while she waited for the boys, Blaise Zabini elbowed her as he passed her table, drenching her in his Butterbeer that he "accidentally" spilled over her.

She sputtered, feeling queasy by the smell – _that godawful smell, was there something wrong with the Butterbeer today?_

Zabini said with a sneer, Pansy Parkinson on his arm: "Merlin, there's a Mudblood in my beer. I would have hoped the Three Broomsticks banned such inferior beings from its premises."

Pansy pulled his arms, whispering frantically: "Shut up, Blaise, you can't say things like that!" as Draco emerged behind his back.

The Malfoy heir said with his most arrogant expression: "You should listen to Pansy, pretty-boy. What did I tell you about mouthing off to my Godmother? Apologize, or there'll be hell to pay. I hear your mother is in debt – _again_. I also hear she didn't enjoy what happened last time my father bailed her out. _He_ enjoyed it, though. Does she still have those marks after the dungeon chains?"

Hermione gaped at Draco in shock, before scrunching her face in disgust. Pansy just rolled her eyes, but Zabini pressed his lips together, looking angrily at Malfoy. He gritted out: "My apologies, Madam Snape. I won't be this clumsy and careless" – his eyes flitted at Draco – "on another occasion."

She gave him her best, haughty nod, and proceed to Scourgify herself as the Slytherins moved on.

"What was that about?" Harry said, as the boys arrived with their steaming plates.

"Nothing," she said shortly, "just Malfoy pretending to be my white, Slytherin knight again. If he hadn't threatened to set his father on Zabini's mom, I might have started to believe Malfoy to be a better person."

Xxxx

The next morning, the Prophet ran a series of photographs from Hogsmeade: "ARE OUR CHILDREN SAFE WHILE RUNNING WILD IN HOGSMEADE?" The pictures showed students drinking, eating, trying out products from Zonko's and generally making havoc, but one image showed her own, beaming face as she passed Severus in the street. The text underneath drily stated: " _Our favorite couple from the gossip columns is clearly in love."_

She snorted, but Ron looked a long time at the picture, before he raised his face to her, saying accusingly: "You look like you love him."

Hermione gaped in astonishment, while Harry laughed out loud. "Good one, Ron!" he wheezed, almost unable to speak between his bouts of laughter. "I bet she never saw that one coming!"

Ron smiled a little uncertainly at Harry, obviously pleased with making him laugh so hard, but as his eyes met Hermione's again, he looked searchingly at her. She just rolled her eyes in answer, not daring to say a word. _She most certainly didn't love him, but she had to agree, in the picture, she looked inordinately happy._

Xxxx

In the Common Room, the fire was burning merrily, and students were happily chatting by the fireplace, while others were sweating over last minute homework at the tables. Hermione was putting the finishing touches to her Herbology essay, a nice two-and-a-half foot long treatise on the properties and growth of Nightshade berries, waiting for Ron and Harry to return from Quidditch practice.

"Hermione, dear, how are you?" Lavender Brown simpered by her ear. "How do you cope in the dungeons with Professor Snape? I have been feeling so sorry for you, but then I saw that picture in the _Prophet_ ," the girl said, a devilish glint in her eyes.

Hermione sighed, drying her quill with a quick spell. Lifting her head to Lavender, she gave the girl a fake, bright smile. "I'm good, Lavender, thanks for asking."

The girl leaned in, whispering in her ear: "I know you fancied Ron, so it must be positively _dreadful_ to suddenly be married to the bat of the dungeons." Then her eyes widened in feigned shock, and she giggled: "Oooops, I didn't mean to talk your husband down, darling."

Hermione almost scowled at her, before remembering that the one who showed anger or hurt, lost in this particular game. "That's so sweet of you, but you must realize, Ron was never in my thoughts at all," she simpered back at the dratted girl. "I find that I enjoy a mature, experienced, powerful wizard. Ron's nice, but a bit of a lightweight beside my husband, a little young, inexperienced and immature, don't you think? I'm very pleased with how this all turned out, you see." With a sensuous sigh, she whispered: "I am so very, very satisfied." She batted her eyelashes at Lavender, seeing the girl almost screw up her face in disgust.

Hiding a grin, she continued casually to the girl: "Oh look, there's Harry and Ron coming in through the portrait." Leaning in, voice conspiratorial, she whispered to Lavender: "Harry's told me Ron just _loves_ it when you call him Won-Won. I think you should engrave it on a big, silver heart for him to wear, maybe as a Christmas present. He would be so pleased, he'd wear it every day to prove his love for you."

Xxxx

"Your progress in shutting me out or diffusing your memories are coming along very nicely," he said, brow furrowing as he looked at her. "But the way you construct fake memories is abysmal. You wouldn't fool a first year, and the Dark Lord would rip you apart."

Arching an eyebrow, as she sat exhausted in one of the leather chairs in front of the large fireplace, she quipped: "Luckily, I won't be seeing him anytime soon, will I?"

Fear gripped her, as she actually saw him wince in his chair. He mumbled: "Well, you see…"

She righted herself, squaring her shoulders, and her voice came out shrill: "What have you been keeping from me?"

He sighed, leaning back into his chair, carelessly tugging at the buttons on his arm. "The Dark Lord turns seventy on New Year's Eve. We have to attend."

Her heart thumped so hard, she thought the whole castle would be able to hear her. "I … I … have to go there to _celebrate_ his fucking _birthday_?" she whispered.

"Language!" he reminded her absently, before he continued: "There won't be a revel, this is more like a grand party. It's very unlikely that you'll be threatened with any advances from him. There'll be lots of people from the Ministry, Gringott's, scientists, rich landowners and so on. Very posh." After a pause, he mumbled to himself: "I hope he remembers to put on shoes."

"What?" she said incredulously, giggling a little, letting herself become distracted from the danger, because she really, really didn't want to entertain the thought of meeting Voldemort, "he doesn't wear shoes?"

"No," her husband said with a quirk of his lips, "though no one really knows why. At least, no one is suicidal enough to ask."

She smiled a little, before she sat still, brooding again. _Merlin, what if Voldemort really wants to… What if he tortures me, or kills me?_ Raising her head, she pleaded: "Do I have to attend?"

"Yes," he said heavily, "spouses and children are expected, too. We need to train you for this, luckily there's more than two weeks left."

"Oh, really," she said, feeling almost desperate to avoid it. She'd rather go and hide herself at the Burrow all through Christmas… Narrowing her eyes, she said sweetly to him: "In exchange for me going with you to _celebrate_ You-Know-Who's birthday, you should do something for me as well."

"Oh?" his eyebrows were in his hair, but his expression was a little amused. _Slytherins,_ she thought, _they just love to haggle._

"You will accompany _me_ to the Burrow for Christmas," she said, staring boldly at him, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Absolutely not!" he replied.

"I trade you New Years Eve for Christmas day," she said blithely.

"Preposterous," he snorted. "You get to do something you like, while I have to protect you against Death Eaters and the Dark Lord."

"It's your call, if you want to please You-Know-Who or not," she said, shrugging.

He rolled his eyes, and said: "Fine. Are you happy?"

"Yes," she said, beaming at him, and somehow, impossibly, the crook of his eyes crinkled, and his mouth quirked. _Did Severus Snape just smile at her?_ Then the instruments borrowed from Dumbledore tinkled again, and he furrowed his brow, grabbing his robes before striding out in the halls without a word.

When he came back, she had fallen asleep in her chair. She woke up when he entered, feeling grumpy, her neck stiff after sleeping in a cramped position.

Giving him a bleary-eyed glance, she suddenly noticed the beetle crawling around in a jar. His mouth curved, as he saw the pieces click in her brain.

"You caught her!" she said breathlessly.

The beetle scuttled around, trying to scale the glass walls of the jar. Callously, he said: "It's not against any law to catch and ground a beetle into powder for ingredients," he told her with an arched eyebrow.

Hermione blanched slightly, and she whispered: "You wouldn't…"

Looking at the jar, not paying attention to her fearful expression, he continued: "I wonder what properties _this_ beetle will have. Maybe she'll vary from the common, black Mugrot beetle? I better test it, maybe starting with a leg."

Then he looked up, seeing her pale, shocked expression, and he shrugged. "Give me a moment," he said, walking to his office, and put the jar down on his desk.

As he came back, he warded the door, saying quietly: "This was for Skeeter's benefit. She may well believe me capable of grounding her to powder. That doesn't mean I'll do it."

She felt an almost comical amount of relief, and her shoulders sagged. "How did you catch her?"

"It wasn't all that difficult. You see, the Dark Lord created a useful, little spell to force animagi out or into their animal form. It was merely a question of tracking her. Now, we'll leave her in the jar to stew for a couple of days."

She felt herself almost croon in happiness, and she said: "Why only a couple of days? Why not a year?"

"I say you're a bloodthirsty, little witch," he commented, amusement clear in his eyes. As he poured himself a drink, she watched him, wondering of he really would offer her drinks to test if she became more relaxed in bed after drinking. Instead, he looked at her, pensively. After a while, he said: "Are you always this late?"

 _Late_? she thought in confusion. _I'm never late. Oh gods, that kind of late… My period should have been more than two weeks ago!_

"No, never," she said nervously.

"Have you checked?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"No," she admitted, shocked at her own inattention. _She didn't even know the spell, having never seen it performed._

"Will you let me do the honours?" His voice was silky, gentle in a way she had never heard before.

"Yes," she whispered, feeling faint.

He pointed his black wand at her, whispering: " _Investio Infans"_ , and the spell lit up her stomach in a golden-green hue. She could read the result clearly from the shocked expression on his face. Swallowing, she felt tears pool in her eyes. _Oh gods, I carry his child. I'm pregnant, with Professor Snape's baby._ She felt as if she barely could breathe – _she was much too young, trapped, forever, doomed to raise a child before she even had finished school_ – and panic welled over her.

When she broke out in desperate sobs, he rose, pouring himself a new drink. Glancing quickly at her wretched state, her _surely_ red, blotched unattractive face, he scowled, knocking the Firewhisky down quickly. He wiped his mouth, grabbing his robes, not looking at her, and said gruffly: "I'll be back late. Don't wait up."


	6. Headaches

_**A/N:** Thanks for reviewing, following and favoriting! You make me love awkwardness even more. _

* * *

Severus sat at breakfast, crouched over his steaming, strong cup of black tea. His eyes felt like they were filled with small grains of sand, and he knew his eyes looked bleary and bloodshot. The pounding in his head was insistent, and if he hadn't Scourgified himself before he entered the Great Hall, he'd be smelling exactly as bad as he felt: like a man with the aftermath of two bottles of Firewhisky coursing through his body.

He'd come straight to breakfast from that little hellhole of a pub in Knockturn Alley, downing a Sobering Potion before he Apparated back to the grounds, but it couldn't take the edge of his hangover. The pub was not his usual haunt, but it was seedy enough that no one came there to talk, only to drink themselves into a stupor. The only ones that did talk, was the whores that propositioned him and the dark potion dealers who knew his reputation.

Severus shivered, he still couldn't escape the strong feeling of hopelessness, of fear and sorrow that had plagued him after seeing how much his wife did _not_ want his child. It was obvious, this had destroyed her life. Her NEWTs would have to be postponed, her career would have years of setback, if she indeed could make it back on track. _And Severus just knew that Hermione was cut out for doing well in the Ministry._ She had it in her to rise to a high level, surely a Department Head with time, maybe even to the very top. _His little wife was brilliant, no matter how he had demeaned her and put her down during her years in his class_ , he thought sourly.

For himself, he was worried about becoming like his father. To be sure, he had the temper to go with it, but he deeply dreaded that fatherhood would dredge up some unforeseen brutality in himself, making him turn on this unwanted, tiny child. Or, he might very well _die_ in this war, not being able to protect his child and his wife. Then again, _she_ could die, or even the _baby._ But the worst thing would be a cold, loveless marriage, bringing up a child without love and affection. _And as things were looking out, it was a very likely scenario._

He knew he looked scruffy and awful, and he noted his little wife staring adamantly away from the head table, but he also noted that she was only drinking tea, not eating, and she looked decidedly green around the gills. He, on the other hand, was wolfing down fatty sausages and bacon, greasy eggs and loads of butter on his toast to assuage his morning-after hunger, almost scorching himself on the too-hot tea.

"Gods, Severus, you look like hell. What happened?" Minerva said softly from beside him.

He shook her head to her, murmuring: "Not here. Later."

She nodded, but kept glancing anxiously at him until they had to leave for the staff meeting.

Minerva fell into steps beside him, and looked encouraging at him. "Well?" she said.

"She's pregnant," he said curtly.

His colleague's eyes widened, and she said, voice tentative: "I believe a congratulation is in order."

He shrugged, mouth grimacing bitterly. "She hates it. She hates me."

"Oh, Severus. It's the shock, she's a sweet girl, come on, she doesn't hate you," Minerva said soothingly.

He shook his head. "No, she hates it, you should have seen her reaction. I couldn't take it, I had to leave."

Minerva pursed her lips, glaring at him. "You left a young, distressed girl, who had just found out she is to be the mother of your child, to go _drinking_ and _cavorting_ in a _pub?"_

"Yes," he said curtly. "She hates it, like I said." Rubbing at his tired, dry eyes, he whispered: "I was ordered to make it happen quickly, but I had hoped she could finish more of her schooling before the child came. Now, she won't even be able to take her NEWTs, she'll give birth sometime in August. She's brilliant, Minerva, and now I've ruined her chances to get the life she wanted."

Minerva sighed, and said admonishingly: "You didn't. The Ministry, and You-Know-Who, and even perhaps Albus did it. But not you, Severus."

He stared at her, oddly grateful for the comfort. _He knew he was guilty of destroying Hermione Granger's – no, Hermione Snape's – life, but it felt nice to know that others were more forgiving of his actions._

Xxxx

She sought him out after classes, coming into his office with her back held ramrod straight and her chin raised, virtually thrumming with anger. Glaring at him, she said: "I went to see Madam Pomfrey today. Alone, as you're clearly doesn't care."

He groaned, feeling that pounding headache worsen at her words, and the nagging guilt made his stomach roil. _She hated him, and his child. This would be hell. His child…_

"I'm almost six weeks along," she spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Is everything alright?" he asked tiredly, feeling like the veins in his neck would pop any minute from the strain and pressure.

"Alright? Alright?" her voice rose, shrilly and angry, before it lowered into something dangerous, furious. "The baby is fine, if that's what you're asking."

She turned on the spot, marching to the door, and he clutched his aching head between his hands. _Gods, this wouldn't do. It just wouldn't._ "Stop," he said, flinging a spell at the door, locking it.

She spun around, glowering at him, and stood still, one foot tapping the floor impatiently.

 _Gods, what did he do this for? He had no plan, no idea of how to appease her anger. He just knew he couldn't take this tension. Not with the demands from the Dark Lord, Albus and his fucking work at the school – and her, on top of it all._

"What?!" she snarled when he didn't say anything.

Taking a deep breath, he said haltingly: "I'm sorry for walking out on you yesterday. I want my child to have a good life, and even though you hate me and my baby, I hope you'll try to be nice to the child when it's born. It became too much for me yesterday, both the shock and the fact that you feel I'm effectively destroying your life."

She stood still, staring at him. Her stance softened a little, and she asked: "Wherever did you get the silly idea that I wouldn't care for my baby?"

He looked at her, doubtful, before saying slowly: "I _am_ a Legilimens, Hermione. I could hear your thoughts clearly last night. You didn't want my child, you think your life is in ruins, you feel like I doomed you to rear my children and taking away what you wanted for your life. To be an unwanted child, Hermione, is a terribly, lonely affair. My child should not experience that."

Her eyes blinked, and suddenly, though he couldn't understand how her mood could swing so fast, she was crying. "Severus," she sniffled, "of course I will love my baby!" She wiped her wet cheeks with her hand, to no avail.

"Come here," he said, conjuring a handkerchief for her.

She took it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes, before she tittered, shamefacedly. "Madam Pomfrey told me I could experience mood swings."

"Indeed," he said, still looking at her. Reaching out his hand to her again, he pulled her into his lap, going on instinct alone. It felt good, as she curled up into his chest, her laughter falling apart into tears again. Sobbing quietly, she hid her face into his shoulder, and he petted her hair, feeling its strange mix of bristly softness through his hands.

She whispered: "You left me. I think I needed support, last night."

He sighed, and said: "I couldn't see anything in your mind but panic, rage and hatred."

Shaking her head, she said: "I don't hate you."

"Yes, you do. Hermione, _I know._ "

She was still for a few moments, before saying: "Sometimes, yes. But not always, not most of the time. Just when you do something mean and spiteful, like yesterday."

He laughed, bitterly, his headache pulsing through his brain: " _When_ am I not spiteful and mean?"

She cocked her head at him, and said: "Most of the time you're … surprisingly … nice to me."

"I'm not," he said brusquely, shoving her off his lap. "If you don't mind, I have things to do," he said curtly, dismissing her.

Xxxx

She had avoided his eyes all evening. Surprisingly, he felt no trace of her being insulted by his brusqueness, instead, she radiated sadness.

His headache still felt like it was splitting his skull, no matter how many painkilling potions he took. Massaging his head as he sat before the great fireplace, he said to her: "We need to go to Diagon Alley, to buy you a suitable dress for the New Year party. Maybe you should get some fitting done on your clothes for later, too."

She perked up. "Diagon Alley? Before Christmas?"

"This week, maybe tomorrow," he said, wincing as the lights began to flash. _Gods, a migraine. He needed to dose himself into unconsciousness, to wait until it passed._

She emitted a small squeal: "Oooh, can we go to Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes," he croaked, feeling nausea sweep up on him, before he rose unsteadily, staggering to his feet, making a run for the bathroom. He barely made it, crouching over the toilet, before he emptied his stomach.

Soft feet pattered into the bathroom, and he felt a warm, small hand gather his hair and pull it away from his face, conjuring a cord to bind it away from his face, and she softly stroked his shoulder. A cool cloth was pressed to his brow, and he groaned, as his stomach spasmed once again.

After a short while, he sat back, panting, feeling cold sweat drench his brow.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Migraine. Blue vial in the cupboard," he rasped. She rose, finding the vial and poured it into his mouth. He rose, unsteadily again, and she hefted her arm around his waist and half dragged him to bed, undressing him before tucking him in. Then she plunged to room into blessed darkness, the potion took hold of Severus, and he knew no more.

Xxxx

He woke, feeling oddly refreshed and rested. That was, until he checked the time, realizing it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Panicking, he vaulted out of bed on his way to the bathroom _–_ _what about his classes, his responsibilities, why had no one woken him up –_ and he stopped, reading the note on his bathroom door.

 _I took the liberty of informing the Headmaster of your migraine. He says to take the day off. I hope you feel better. - H._

He stared dumbfounded at the note, feeling an unfamiliar feeling well up inside. _Whenever had anyone taken care of him? Not since he was a very small boy._ She had made sure he had the time to recuperate in peace, _helped_ him, explaining his absence to his superior. This … he felt very embarrassed and awkward, not sure how to deal with this unexpected _kindness_. The least he could do, was to brew her a potion for her morning sickness.

Xxxx

Saturday morning, he mumbled gruffly into her hair: "I'll take you to Diagon Alley today. How about leaving at twelve?"

Through her body, he could sense her contentment, as she stretched lazily. "And we'll have time for Flourish and Blotts too?"

"Yes," he chuckled, adding softly: "You little swot."

She turned around with mock indignation, swatting his chest lightly. "Says the man with the biggest personal library I've seen!"

"I didn't say I opposed the idea of going to the bookstore," he said, feeling a small smile breaking out on his face.

Xxxx

They entered Madam Malkin's five minutes after twelve, the doorbell chiming. The elderly Madam Malkin came bustling out, but stopped short as she saw the two of them. He noted she paled a little seeing him, and the look she gave his wife bordered on simpering pity.

"What can I do for you?" the woman gushed, and he snapped rudely: "My wife need new dress robes, as well as some new robes and alterations."

"Very well, if you'll follow Miss Grelindena, she'll be able to help you," Madam Malkin said, still throwing worried looks at Hermione.

They perused the racks of dress robes, and the snippy Miss Grelindena, a witch he remembered back from his school days, still with that pinched, snooty look on her face, guided his wife through the finery.

"What about this one?" his wife said, pointing to a black dress, with a square-cut neck, an A-line, full skirt starting just below the breasts, and narrow sleeves. The matching dress robe was long and velvety, with a large, pointed hood. _Excellent choice_ , he thought, appropriate for both the Dark Lord's birthday and for future use during her pregnancy.

Suddenly, his heart swelled a little by the thought of her belly growing big with _his_ child, pushing the fabric of that dress out into a rounded baby bump, but the feeling was soon crushed by the disdainful voice of the shop assistant: "These are _expensive,_ Mr. Snape." The arched eyebrow on the old bint seemed to imply that he was still a poor, snoot-faced little boy, only scraping by with poor-quality, second-hand clothing. Severus felt his back straighten up, and he sneered down at the woman, putting his coldest Death Eater glare at her, and growled: "Only the best for my wife, Miss, if you would be so kind as to do your job without any further, unnecessary comments."

Hermione stared from him and to the shop assistant, clearly catching that something was going on, before she shrugged: "I'll try them on."

The shop assistant muttered, as she helped his wife into the dress: "Such a lovely, young girl you are. I can see why he wants to dress you up, you'll look so lovely in this, with your small stature. Your husband must be proud to have caught himself such a young wife, and I can see why he will want to show off his little slip of a wife to her best advantage. You'll look _almost_ like a grown witch, my dear."

Severus felt his anger swelling, but his wife was faster. Narrowing her eyes at the shop assistant, she said sharply: "I beg your pardon? For your information, I _am_ a grown witch. Maybe you should check your eyesight, it would be disastrous for a seamstress to have poor sight."

The woman raised her eyebrows, and muttered: "The little cat has claws, too. Good for you, child."

After several minutes of parrying back and forth, the shop assistant frowned, at last pinching her mouth shut. He paid for the dress robes, altercations to her uniforms and other clothes, and in his anger, he had heaped black, lacy underwear on his wife, making both her and the shop assistant blush.

Well outside on the street, his wife gave him a tentative smile, the blush still high in her cheeks from seeing the underwear he had bought for her. Most of it had been standard, lacy brassieres and knickers, but the knickers with an open crotch and the brassiere with cut-outs for the nipples had made her crimson. _He regretted making her embarrassed, but the expression on that obnoxious Miss Grelindena had been priceless. Plus, he looked forward to see his wife in that outfit._

"And now for the bookshop?" she inquired hopefully.

"In a moment, I have some ingredients to pick up," he said, steering them towards the mouth of Knockturn Alley. Whispering to her, he said: "Remember, when we enter Knockturn, I'm here as a high-ranking Death Eater. Whatever I say or do, it is an act, remember?"

Wide-eyed, she looked at him, clutching his arm tightly.

They entered the dark, narrow street, and it felt light plunging into darkness after the bright, cheery Diagon Alley, where magical Christmas decoration had abounded. Here, the was only faint lights from deep inside the buildings, the houses crouched over the streets, seeming like they were about to fall down, only holding up because one house leaned into the next.

He slowed his gait, taking on a confident, arrogant pose, as he sauntered down the street. No one would hurt him here, everyone knew he was Inner Circle, powerful, and the Dark Lord's right hand man. People stood aside for them, and many bowed their heads in respect. He stared straight ahead, ignoring everything but the tight grip his wife held on his arm, keeping her body close to him, not listening to the low, scared whispers following his passage. Severus felt uncomfortable showing his wife how exalted his position was among the Death Eaters and the dark riffraff slinking about Knockturn Alley. _Hermione was smart, she must have realized he had done atrocious acts to end up as the Dark Lord's favorite follower, but seeing the respect and fear the people of Knockturn Alley would make it blatantly clear for her. There was nothing to it, he had to have those ingredients for the Dark Lord's birthday present._

At the second corner, he turned right and they entered the apothecary. There was no doorbell, only an ominous creak by the door. As usual, the shop was dark, with deep shelves containing vials of ingredients, contents murky, some lit from the inside with sickly colours, and in the jars, unwholesome things were swimming in fluids. Walking up to the counter, he rapped his knuckles firmly and impatiently on the wooden top.

The back door opened, and the stooped, wizened, bald shop keeper entered. His yellow teeth flashed into an ingratiating smile when he saw Severus, and he said: "Master Snape, how may I help you, sir?" The formal bow that followed was deep and reverent, and Severus gave him a short, perfunctory nod.

"Mr. Segan," he said coldly. "I have need of seven ounces of Death-cap, a pint of Dragon Claw Ooze, a foot of Boomslang skin, and … an ounce of crushed Unicorn spines."

The man paled, and he said shakily, incredulous: "An ounce? Surely, you won't need as much as that, sir."

Severus stared him down, until the man cowered, before hastily saying: "I'll see what I have, there's maybe not more than two ounces in all of Britain…".

He felt the curious gaze of his wife resting on him, as the old apothecary shuffled about, weighing up his requests while muttering to himself. Vaguely, he heard the man saying: " _Good Merlin, an ounce! I've never heard anything like it, he could poison half of Britain, or regenerate …"_

Hermione shifted beside him, and he could feel her curiosity like a palpable thing, hovering around him. He squeezed her hand briefly, and turned back to the old shop keeper.

"Here you go, sir. I managed to scrape up a quarter to an ounce, but if you need more, I recommend Towersend in Bath. I hope you won't hold this against me, sir, it _is_ an … unusual … ingredient."

Severus responded arrogantly: "It'll have to do, for now. Make sure to stock up again, I might need more later."

"That'll be eighty Galleons and seven Sickles, sir."

He arched an eyebrow at the man, who cowered again. "On second thought, sir, I'll give you a discount of five Galleons since I couldn't meet your requirements."

Still staring at him, after a while the man offered weakly: "A discount of ten, sir?"

"Good," he said, fishing out the money, starting to stack up the coins. His little wife was now wide-eyed, and he guessed she had never bought anything as expensive as this.

"And this would be your lovely, young wife, sir?" the shopkeeper said glibly.

"Yes, indeed," he said, still counting.

"What a honour for you, Madam, to be married to such an esteemed, powerful man as your husband."

"Mmm, yes, I'm very lucky," she said, almost not hesitating at all.

He almost smiled by her easy lie.

Xxxx

"It's time for dinner, let's eat in Diagon Alley," he said, not meeting her eyes after their two hour stint at Flourish and Blotts. She had bought six books, and he had five himself. The other customers had all _stared_ at them, and he caught frequent, fleeting thoughts of going along the lines of _poor girl, married to that brute. I bet he forced her into it. They say he's a Death Eater, Merlin save her._ Though, he found the thoughts of two of the wizards more revolting: _I bet he fucks that tasty little morsel to an inch of her life every night. I know I would have! As a Death Eater, he probably just rapes her, maybe he ties her up, beats her, maybe he fucks her arse – oh man, that would be something…_ Scowling, he sent a silent, wandless hex at those two, providing them with painful boils on their genitalia.

Clearing his head from the irritating jumble of thoughts, he tucked her arm into his side again, before ridding her of her bag with the shrunken books. She looked confused, holding on to the bag, not letting go, until he murmured: "Allow me." His little wife blinked at him, before saying uncertainly: "Thank you," clearly in the dark as to why he did it. Scowling, he realized she had such a low opinion of him that she even thought _normal_ manners to be beyond him.

Flicking through their dinner options in his mind, he decided that the _Leaky Cauldron_ was too raucous, the _White Swan_ much too seedy and dirty. It would have to be the _Wicked Ghost._ It was posh, but it was the only place he could think of suitable for a dinner date. _Because, that's what it was,_ he realized. _He was taking his young wife out to dinner._ Suddenly, he saw a faint blush on her cheeks, and he knew that she was thinking along the same lines.

Entering the restaurant, they were quickly showed a table by the window. The tablecloth was white, pressed into crisp lines, and the silver cutlery and crystal goblets spoke of fine, wizarding cuisine. The chandelier in the center of the roof shone with myriads of fluttering, little fairies, giving off a soft, muted light. He rarely went here, expect with Lucius and his family. _The food was good, though._

"Something to drink, sir, Madam?" the waiter said courteously.

"I'll have a glass of white Uffington for starters," he drawled.

"And you, Madam?" the waiter asked.

She hesitated, and he could _hear_ her thoughts. _I should ask for a glass of wine, to make him see me as an adult, not student. But it may not be healthy for the baby, though one glass is surely not harmful…"_

He casually said to the waiter: "Madam will have a glass of non-alcoholic, sparkling elderflower draught."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he arched an eyebrow in amusement to her. _Let her think he wouldn't allow her wine, either from her being a student or because of the pregnancy._

Hermione pressed her lips together, and nodded at the waiter. The glasses came floating through the air within a minute, and he lifted his glass to her, toasting.

"To … our… family," he said, and she nodded, repeating in a weak voice: "To our family."

He had ordered scallops for himself as the first course, and she had fretted over the choices, trying to find out if what she could eat. Madam Pomfrey had given her a list of foods she should avoid, but eventually, she decided to have a green salad with anchovies.

He felt odd, awkward, and could easily see she felt the same way, realizing that they really had no idea on how to behave with each other outside the school setting. _What to expect? Now, they were two people on a date, not their Hogwarts' personas of Professor and student, horny husband and unwilling wife._ Severus shuddered slightly, and almost drained his glass in his dismay. _She might have been nice to him while he was ill, but he shouldn't forget, she hated him._

As they waited for their food, he tried to fill the oppressive, uncomfortable silence, though small talk was something he rarely did. But this was too awkward, he couldn't stand the fact that his little Know-It-All was so flustered that even she couldn't find it in her to _talk_.

"Have you been here before?" his voice was a little gruff.

Surprised, she looked at him, shaking her head. "No, I've never been eating anywhere else than the Leaky Cauldron. I guess there must be several restaurants."

"Actually, no," he said. "There are several lunch bars and cafés, but few restaurants that stay open in the evening."

"Why?" she asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

He felt relieved, like his wife was _back_ in the body of the strange, unfamiliar witch sitting across the table for him. "Maybe because so few people actually live in the area. Most Apparate back to their villages and houses after work."

She nodded, while sipping at her glass. Then she squared her shoulders and asked: "Do you have a family?"

Surprised, he shrugged. "Not much. A cousin on my father's side. I've never met him, I didn't care much for my filthy, Muggle father."

She gasped, eyes hurt and scared. Her breath came faster, and he could see the tendrils of anger clouding her eyes.

Wincing, he saw his mistake. She _would have thought him to be spouting the Dark Lord's ideology_. Quickly, he explained: "My father was a vile man, a despicable, brutal drunk, and he died in gaol after beating my mother to death. He _was_ the very epitome of a filthy Muggle."

Rapidly, her eyes filled with tears, and she took his hand over the table, whispering: "I'm sorry, I had no idea."

He gruffly said: "Not many does, I hadn't expected you to know." Letting his eyes rake over her torso, stopping at her belly, he murmured to himself: "I don't want to be like him."

She gave a small, shaky laugh, saying: "I don't think you are, either."

Covering his confusion, he concentrated on his scallops, and didn't look at her before she questioned him again: "There was no relatives on your mother's side?"

"There are some, but I've never met them. They disowned my mother for eloping with my father. There will be a cousin starting Hogwarts next year, though."

"Do you have a home outside Hogwarts?"

Giving her a self-deprecating smile, he told her of his run-down, rickety shack of a house at Spinner's End. True to form, she immediately began asking him about any plans for renovating it. Wincing, he realized that his industrious wife would have colour-coded spreadsheets on different choices for renovating within a month. _This was just the kind of things she would love to organize._

Well into the main course, a side of salmon for him with greens and white wine sauce, and baked sole for her, garnished with a froth of cream and lemon juice, he asked: "What's with all the questions?" Giving her a small smirk, he added: "Apart from the usual behavior of Mrs. Know-It-All."

She almost stuck her tongue out at him, but checked herself. Thoughtfully, she speared the last bit of fish on her fork, staring at it. Then she said: "I feel like I should know you better. We'll be together for the rest of their lives. I should know these things about you."

He almost choked on his wine, but then the waiter was there to gather the plates, and the chocolate fondants were arriving. They both lost themselves in the enjoyment of the hot, melting, buttery chocolate.

Xxxx

The Sunday paper had several pictures of them in the gossip column, with the headline "Candlelit dinner for the Snape's: Is she already pregnant?"

Somehow, the reporter had caught up on her not drinking, and spun a story on it.

He could see she was rolling her eyes, and talking fast to Ron and Harry, while the boys shot suspicious glares in his direction. _Interesting,_ he thought, _she hadn't told her friends about the pregnancy yet._

The staff room, on the other hand, was all abuzz with the gossip, and he registered more covert glances than he ever had before.

Not surprisingly, Arithmancy teacher Septima Vector opened the field by saying: "And I think Madam Snape is not quite herself these days. She seems a little preoccupied, not asking as many questions as she used to. I've also noted that she seems pale, maybe even a little nauseous. Is she alright, Severus, or is there anything you'd like to share with us?"

He saw Poppy staring out of the window, looking indifferent, and he admired her professionalism. Not a single one of the faculty members would have guessed that Hermione already had been for her first check-up, after seeing Poppy's expression. Minerva kept her head down, staring at her hands, and then he realized: _He had forgotten to inform Albus_! Willing the old man to look at him, he pushed the thought out at him: _She's pregnant._ The old coot paled, but nodded imperceptibly.

Finding his voice, he said calmly: "Nothing at the moment, Septima." The rest of the staff scowled at him, no doubt thinking he had abused her badly to make their star pupil's concentration slip.

In her new dress robes, with her hair done up, she made his mouth water and his cock stir. _She's so fucking beautiful_ , he thought, and at the same time, that thought _hurt._ No one would think he deserved someone like her, and for that matter, he didn't think so either.

She turned away from the mirror, after putting one last pin in her hair, and asked him a little coyly: "Will this do?"

"Yes," he breathed, not being able to take his eyes away from her. The black dress was tight around her chest, the square neckline modest but giving a hint of the swell of her breasts. It fell in soft folds from the black satin bond gathering it right underneath those luscious tits, while her arms were encased in tight, black fabric with a bit of lace just at her wrist.

She shifted, smiling a little, clearly feeling satisfied with his reaction.

"Let's go, we don't want to be late," she said, holding her hand out to him, her eyes warm. And so it happened, that Severus Snape led his young wife by the arm through the corridors of Hogwarts, for once not scowling at all the students whispering by their passage.

Slughorn had as usual decorated his office garishly, and the circus-like tent forming over their head had lurid colours in crimson, emerald and gold, making it more of a Gryffindor freak show than a proper, Slytherin party tent. Severus shuddered, he had always thought Slughorn's taste to be much too gaudy. This was merely the final proof. The guests and the students seemed to have a good time, though, but then Potter and Weasley pounced in on his wife.

"Hey, Hermione!" Weasley said happily, _hugging_ her. Severus gave him a good glare, and the boy backed off hurriedly. Potter snatched a glass of champagne from a floating tray, and extended it to Hermione. "Here you go, have a glass! It's real champagne, Slughorn says."

His wife gave them a mysterious, small smile, and said: "Later, Harry, I'm a little too hungry right now. Have you done your Herbology essay yet? Because it was actually very interesting, and it was difficult to find enough references, and…"

"Merlin," Weasley groaned, "this is a _party_ , Hermione! You can't just ask about homework now, it's not fair!"

"I take it you haven't done it, then," she said, her chin lifted and her voice bossy and superior.

Potter took the champagne and drained it himself, and slurred a little: "We'll do it later, you can show us your essay tomorrow." Suddenly, he realized that Severus was listening in, and he added nervously: "Of course, sir, she'll just give us advice, it's not like she's letting us copy her essays or anything…"

Severus arched his eyebrow at Potter, secretly amused by how easily his wife had distracted those two morons from her refusal of drinks. "Indeed, I should hope not," he drawled, seeing the boy flush a little, darting uncertain glances to Hermione. She merely smiled, and picked at Severus' arm.

"I would love some food. Let's see what Slughorn has to offer, shall we?"

He followed her towards a House-elf bearing a heavily laden tray, and almost laughed at the whispering breaking out between the two boys: " _Merlin,"_ Weasley wheezed, " _you as good as told him she does our homework! Now he'll be on his guard, you moron!"_ Potter whispered angrily back at him: " _It was a fucking mistake, right? We'll just do the Defense homework ourselves for a few weeks, and then we'll go back to normal when he's not as suspicious."_

He couldn't resist to turn around to the boys with a smirk, saying: "My hearing is rather sharp. If you really didn't want me to be on my guard, I would have suggested you kept your mouth shut. Now, it's a little too late for that, I'm afraid."

The boys looked thunderstruck, and he couldn't help a chuckle. His wife gave him a reproving look, but she smiled a little too. "I wouldn't dare to help them after this," she noted drily, "or else you would have to take points from me, or what?"

"Yes," he said, still smiling, as she chewed on a small bruschetta. "We wouldn't want that, would we? Such a scandal," he tutted, as she pushed a deviled egg into her mouth, then following up with a small quiche. Amused, he wondered if she already felt an increased hunger due to the pregnancy, as she popped a pigs-in-blanket between her lips.

Later, they were dancing, and it felt so good to have her in his arms, moving slowly to the low crooning layered just over the mandolins. He sighed in contentment, as she rested her head into his chest.

After the song, however, she was asked to dance by a Ministry official, someone from the Department of Mystery, and he stood in a corner, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the man who had the audacity to hold his arms around Severus' wife. _He did not like this, not at all, but he knew he'd have to accept her dancing with other wizards. He had to rein in his possessive nature, because rationally, he knew he couldn't order his wife to not touch another man._

A commotion broke out, and to his surprise, he saw his Godson try to gatecrash the party. _Lucius would be horrified. This was something a Malfoy clearly didn't do. He had to talk to Draco._

Xxxx

Disgruntled and angry, he returned to the party from his unfruitful talk with Draco. _The boy was absolutely impossible, refusing his help, and Severus just hoped it wouldn't lead to both of them being killed by some stupid mistake._

Eyes roving over the party to find his wife, he felt himself stiffen in an explosion of bitter jealousy.

Hermione was dancing with _Potter_ , and the boy had his mouth on her, whispering fervently, intimately into the shell of her ear. His arms were around her, holding her tight, and she was listening to Potter with a serious, but fond look on her face.

In Severus mind, Harry's face blended into James' hated features, making it seem like his old nemesis was there, holding and caressing his wife. At first, he envisioned Lily too, but _her_ face faded into his wife, his beautiful, little wife, who belonged to _him, just him,_ and he couldn't take it anymore. With a few, long steps he was on the dance floor, wrenching his wife away from Potter, and he snarled at her: "We're leaving. _Now."_

Gripping her arm, he dragged her off the dance floor, earning more than a few stares, and she had no choice but to follow him, half running behind his long legs. His anger was thrumming so hard in his veins, he could scarcely bother to avoid bumping into people as he marched along.

When they entered the corridor, she said: "Severus, stop, don't walk so fast!", but he just pulled her along, gritting his teeth. _Potter, always a Potter, ruining everything, making a fool out of Severus, inflicting pain and humiliation on him, destroying everything he'd ever wanted…_

Losing himself into dark, familiar thoughts, he barely noticed his wife almost yelling at him as he dragged her along, her frustration growing by each step they took. His temples felt like they would burst, heart pumping and beating hard with every step he took, and he snarled silently to himself: "She belongs to me! I'll show her, that little chit."

Well inside their quarters, he pulled her into the bedroom, mindlessly ridding her of her clothes, before pushing her down on the bed. She made a furious sound of protest, and he growled at her: "Silence!"

"No, listen, this is silly, you can't do things like…" she said shrilly at him, as he crawled on top of her on the bed, pushing her down with his weight. Furiously, he lowered his head to her to stop her from talking, and then he _kissed_ her, hard, fiercely, wantonly, his mouth working over her pursed, clenched lips, until his tongue slipped inside her mouth, finding hers. She gave a small gasp, and then she melted into him, kissing him back. With his tongue roving into her mouth, he felt his cock strain, throbbing hard for her, and he palmed her breast roughly, twisting her nipple, and the moan she gave made him lose all rational thought. He grunted, wordlessly Divesting himself of his clothing, and grabbed his cock with one hand, steering it in between her legs. _And gods, she was wet for him!_

Severus was shaking as he entered her tight quim, thrusting hard into her, hips pumping harshly, and when she whispered: "Yes… it feels good," he came undone, his balls tightening, lifting up, shooting his load into her as ecstasy tore through him, a white light blinding his vision momentarily, while he groaned her name: "Hermione! Oh, Hermione…!"

Shuddering, he retreated from her body, logic and reason returning to make his guilt and shame rear up again. Still panting heavily, he whispered: "I'm sorry, I lost it when you danced with Potter, I didn't mean to …"

His little wife surprised him totally by reaching out to him, dragging him down into her arms as she said tiredly: "Shut it, Severus."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I'm prone to occasional stress migraines myself, and I've always felt that Severus had such a stressful life, he's simply a perfect candidate for having migraines. Poor man. _


	7. Truce

_**A/N**_ : _Thanks for reviewing, following and favoriting! It's such an inspiration. Especially thanks to the guests reviewing the story, as I can't respond to you in person. A shout-out to the guest with the long, detailed and insightful reviews – you know who you are – I love reading your reviews._

* * *

"Don't just _drop_ the lacewings into the brew, girl! Ease them down into the swirl, gently, like they are floating down into your cauldron." His voice was decidedly condescending, but it was still a _far_ cry from the harsh criticisms from his classroom, she thought.

She was practicing her Volubilis Potion, as Slughorn had given her a shocking Exceeds Expectations on both her essay and the brewing session. The old wizard had clucked when he looked at her, wagging an admonishing finger in her face as he said: "My dear, do not exert yourself too much. You do look a little tired." Hermione had gritted her teeth, giving Slughorn a forced smile, and marched back to her husband's quarters to complain, ending in her demanding a private lesson.

Apparently worried that she'd destroy or break something, Severus had in the end allowed her to brew in his private lab, though only under his strict supervision. The lab was immaculate, spotless, without a speck of dust, clean like only magic could make it, and held a vast array of different cauldrons, stirring rods, shelves with rare ingredients and five heightened, lava stone hearths to place cauldrons on. It was dark, like the rest of the dungeon, but very warm with the heat of her magical fire. On a shelf nearby, beetle-Skeeter was crouched in her jar, staring at Hermione, pincher-jaws clicking impatiently.

And here he was, looming over her cauldron, his sharp eyes finding faults with everything from how she handled the ingredients, her stirring technique and the temperature of her fire.

Sighing, she corrected herself, drizzling the remaining lacewing into her cauldron. He snorted lightly, and retreated a few steps, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Now, let it simmer for twelve minutes, but bank down your fire slightly. It's too hot."

She did as he told her too, glancing quickly at him. _Was he pulling her leg with all this fuzziness and criticism? He certainly seemed to be in a good mood,_ she thought sourly, before she asked: "How come I've passed potions, _sir_ , when all I apparently do is wrong?" _He was definitively pulling her leg, now he was grinning, that foolish wizard_ , she told herself _._

"Oh, there you see the difference between private lessons with me and a class," he said, amusement tinging his words. "You get the full brunt of my attention, now, and I have the time and opportunity to help you make a _perfect_ brew."

"I thought I knew these things," she muttered grumpily, and he snorted.

"You are adequate, but not up to a Potion Apprentice standard."

Her mood souring even more, eyebrows knitting into a frown, she grumbled: "I suppose I never will be, now."

He threw her an exasperated look, his mouth thinning, before he flicked a stasis spell at her cauldron.

"Hey, I wasn't finished…" she began angrily, but he interrupted her rudely, almost snarling:

"I _know_ you weren't finished, girl, I _am_ a Potions master, and I can clearly see the difference between a finished and an unfinished brew. Now, hear me out, girl, and then you can continue your brewing."

Scowling at him – _the one who had planted his seed in her belly, making her NEWTS go to hell, effectively hindering her career and future plans_ – she leaned back at the counter, waiting for him to speak, tapping her foot impatiently.

He gave her his blank, expressionless stare, which she had come to learn was a mask, hiding his feelings and sentiments. _They were there, buried beneath that cool exterior, those strong emotions, bubbling underneath the surface, his iron hold on himself keeping everything in like a cauldron holding a boiling brew._

"I _know_ you feel like your future is lost, but really, girl, do you think I would lock you up in the dungeons, forcing you to look after my children until you are old and grey? You _will_ be able to pursue a career, an Apprenticeship and a Mastery just like you had planned, only a little later in your life."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she said sharply, her own temper flaring: "When will I be able to take my NEWTs? How old will my child be by then? Five years old? Eleven? The stupid law demands at least two children. Shall I wait fifteen years to continue my education?"

He scoffed at her: "It's _my_ child too, you know. I imagine you can sit your NEWTs any day after your finals in June, and do better than most seventh years."

Those strange moods swings that had her so baffled took a hit at her again, and she was _floored_ by his words. "Do you really mean that?" she said, almost sniffling by the compliment, "do you think I'm good enough to take my NEWTs without even starting my seventh year?" _She felt stupid, awkward for losing control at the most inopportune times, but she couldn't help it._

He stared at her with those hard, glittering eyes, before he softened slightly and said stiffly: "Yes. Any day, Hermione."

Xxxx

She felt odd, seeing all the students leave for Christmas, standing alone in the grounds, watching the carriages trundle towards Hogsmeade. Almost every single year, she had been one of them, going home on the train to spend the holiday with her parents. Rubbing her arms, having forgotten her cloak, she felt cold in the winter frost covering the grounds. _Merlin, she missed them._ Scrubbing the tears angrily away from her face, she tried to swallow the sob that threatened to break out. _Mum, Dad… You were supposed to be here with me! Instead, you were tortured to death because of me. If I hadn't been a witch, if I hadn't been Harry Potter's best friend, you would be here with me._

In her head, she could imagine their screams, how their bodies contorted under the Cruciatus, how sanity fled as their minds broke under the curse, life slowly leaving their eyes as their bodies gave up. Forcing down the nausea and familiar despair, she willed herself to think about something else, _not_ thinking about how her parents should have been here to watch her get married, and then greeting their grandchild.

With a wry smile, she imagined how they would have taken the news of her marrying her Professor all of a sudden. It would not have gone down well, she was sure, and Christmas with Severus and her parents would have been the most awkward Christmas ever. Her Dad would have scowled at the man knocking up his precious daughter, mumbling things under his breath like "lecher," "horrid old man going after teenagers" and such, and her Mum would have served snide comments on the importance of finishing one's education before having a child, probably scattering books and articles on the dangers of teen pregnancies around the house. _And Severus, oh my, how would he have reacted to that? He'd be sure to show off his most barbed side, delivering cutting remarks and sneers all through Christmas._ Or, maybe she was exaggerating. It may have worked out better – though it would have been singularly awkward, even with everyone at their best behavior.

Speaking of Christmas _._.. She looked down on the present in her hand, almost sniggering as she looked at the beautifully wrapped flat, oblong box, with the Malfoy sigil printed in silver on the bows.

 _Draco Malfoy's face had been a mix of painful embarrassment and horror as he delivered the present to her, his ferret-like face contorted into a forced smile as he had said: "Happy Christmas, Godmother. This is for you, from the Malfoy family with our best wishes."_

 _She had hidden her surprise and wild urge to burst into uncontrollable laughter admirably, retreating behind her hastily erected Occlumency shield. She rather thought her lessons with Severus seemed to be paying off, because her sentiments were becoming easier to hide, if not her emotions. Giving Malfoy a condescending smile, she said: "Happy Christmas to you too, Malfoy. I'm sure I'll be delighted." Hoping that Severus had taken care of any presents to the Malfoy family, as it had definitively **not** been on her mind, she continued: "I hope you'll be pleased with the present from the Snapes too. My best wishes to you for a joyous holiday at Malfoy Manor, with all your … guests … and family." _

_At that Draco had shuddered, a quick expression of revulsion flitting over his face, but he had nodded, withdrawing quickly into the throng, trying to not be affected by the whispering stares from the Slytherins surrounding him._

Snorting softly to herself, she realized she enjoyed the endless possibilities of putting down Malfoy that her marriage afforded her. _Maybe she had a streak of Slytherin in her, too._

Oh, well, she definitively had a part of a Slytherin in her body now, growing and developing every day. _Her soon to be family_ … Well, no matter what she could wish for, this year, she was staying with her husband _,_ the father of her child, to spend most of Christmas in the castle. Her mind turned to their living arrangements: _Would they be living in his quarters after the baby came, or would they get a house in Hogsmeade? Maybe he'd renovate his house, Apparating in at Hogwarts every morning?_ _Would she be alone, confined in a Muggle area with a small child?_

She shuddered, already feeling an acute loneliness, as the last of the carriages with students disappeared behind the trees. Now, she was alone at Hogwarts, without her friends as support and comfort. The grounds had never seemed more desolate, and the pale sunlight glittering in the frost seemed cold and cruel, giving off no warmth.

Suddenly, _he_ was beside her, huffing at her in his deep, sneering voice, sounding just like he would when berating someone in the classroom: "You'll catch cold, standing outside like this without your cloak, you silly girl. Have you no sense at all? How many times must I remind you that you are a witch? You could at least cast a warming charm for yourself." His actions were confusing though, as he draped one, long arm around her shoulder, encasing her into the warmth of his long, black robes, his arm heavy and comforting around her.

"Come," he said after a while. "It's time for the teachers' Christmas lunch. We're celebrating the students leaving. They're expecting us, _both_ of us."

She made a small sound, something between a sigh and a snort, and they turned to go inside the castle. He led her up to the corridor on the fifth floor, and behind a tattered tapestry of the Egyptian Frog-goddess Heqet, there was a large but unremarkable oaken door.

Entering, they were enthusiastically greeted by Dumbledore and McGonagall, and Hagrid was beaming at them. Hermione noted that most teachers looked stiff and uncomfortable by the sight of her. Astronomy Professor Sinistra, Arithmancer Vector and Muggle Studies Professor Burbage cast angry glances at Severus, but when their eyes turned to her, the looks were pitying.

Feeling her anger start to rise, she tried to distract herself by observing the room. She noted there were several unknown adult witches and wizards attending, and she nudged her husband, asking in a hushed tone: "Who are they?"

"Husbands and wives," he said, equally quiet.

Hermione blinked, having never seen nor heard that any of her teachers were married.

"Do they stay in the castle?" she asked.

"No, most live in Hogsmeade," he replied. "In fact, the only teachers living in the castle are the Heads of Houses and the Headmaster."

"Oh," she said with some surprise, having never thought much of the personal lives of her _other_ teachers. She sipped at a cup of tea presented to her by a House-elf, and accepted a ginger bread wizard with a pointed, glazed hat. The staff room was cozy, with a large fireplace, large, airy windows and small sofas and comfortable armchairs, interspersed with small, oaken tables for tea or drinks. On the wall opposite the fireplace, there was a large, colourful woven tapestry of the four founders, with the castle visible in the background. Salazar Slytherin was slouching against a tree, scowling at Godric Gryffindor, who in turn was polishing his sword with an ominous expression. Rowena Ravenclaw was sprawled on the lawn, reading a parchment with obvious delight, while Helga Hufflepuff was whistling, idly flipping a small, golden apple between her hands.

The people in the room looked happy and relieved, and she felt a small twinge of disappointment. _Was it really necessary for the teachers to be **that** happy about the students leaving? Rationally, she knew this was silly, as the teachers would look forward to the holidays too. Still, there was a wedge of hurt in her emotions, like the teachers somehow had not lived up to her expectations, like they had shown a lack of dedication. _

Hermione was introduced to the husband of Ancient Runes Professor Babbling, a handsome wizard, easily Babbling's junior by twenty years or so. The man seemed nice, treating her like she was an adult, _not_ a school girl forced into marriage, and Hermione very much appreciated the fact that he didn't seem to pity her. Severus whispered in her ear as they moved on: "He's a Curse-breaker. They fell in love over a case involving Runes, where Batsheda acted as a consultant."

On the other hand, Professor Burbage's husband, a middle-aged, portly wizard, gave her a troubled glance, asking with concern: "How _do_ you really do?", and Charity Burbage took her arm and led her to a nook by a window.

"My dear Miss Granger, how _are_ you?" she asked, repeating her husband's concern, worry tinging her voice.

Hermione stared at her, realizing this was a genuine anxiety for her wellbeing on the Professor's part, but still, it made her angry. _No adult witches or wizards had stepped up to save her and everyone else from that blasted Marriage Law. No one had been able to protect her and her parents against Death Eaters. No one had any solutions on how to get out of the havoc wreaked by Voldemort. The only solution that had been offered her to keep her alive and well, was Severus Snape. And this woman had the audacity to ask if she was alright, almost two months after the fact of her wedding?!_

Pressing her lips together, she said between gritted teeth: "I'm fine, and it's _Madam Snape_ , Professor."

Tutting, the short Muggle Studies Professor said: "Now, now, to me you'll always be Miss Granger. This marriage of yours simply shouldn't be, poor thing."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, straightening her back, and said slowly and with dignity: "I am fine, Professor, and while I share your sentiments on the law, I'm quite happy. I wish you would refrain from pitying me."

Burbage muttered: "Has he gotten to you to such a degree, child? Please, when you need help to get away from him, you can always come to us."

Hermione felt like stomping her foot, and said angrily: "Don't presume to know my life and my sentiments, Professor. You're making a fool of yourself. Severus and I did what was best for us, with Dumbledore's support. Don't question things you know nothing about!" Turning on the spot, she marched off to her husband, who was talking to McGonagall in front of the fireplace.

He slid an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him with a possessive glance down at her, and she sighed, feeling his presence calming her. Sniggering to herself, she thought: _I must be the only person in the world to find myself calmed by Severus Snape._

Professor McGonagall looked at her with an odd expression, and she said stiffly, almost whispering: "Congratulations. Severus told me the news."

Blinking, she said "Thanks." Turning to her husband, she said sternly to him: "Who else knows? I haven't told anyone, yet."

He shrugged, idly stroking her shoulder, as he said: "Only Minerva and Albus."

"Right," she said, suddenly becoming aware of McGonagall making strange, hiccupping sounds. It appeared that her Head of House was trying to force down a laugh.

The old witch wheezed: "Severus, you've met your match. I've never seen anyone giving you a glare like that – gods, this is priceless. The two of you deserve one another! I wish I could be a fly on the wall to your home life."

They both stared stonily at McGonagall, before looking at each other. Seeing Severus' mouth twitch, Hermione felt a giggle bubble up in herself, and suddenly, she just couldn't hold back the laughter.

Xxxx

They had been working for hours on her Occlumency, days on end, before he threw up his hands: "I don't think this will work. You are admirably strong in hiding your memories, but your construction of false memories is awful at the best. The Dark Lord won't be fooled for a second."

Furrowing her brow, she said slowly: "We still have more than a week left."

He shook his head, dark hair swaying around his face, and said: "This is difficult, Hermione, and you are very far from making a workable, false memory. We'll have to improvise."

"You want me to construct a memory where you treating me badly to convince him," she said. "Maybe I can't do it because I don't believe you'll do something like that?"

"Maybe, though that's hardly the case," he said, looking uncomfortable. "You can call up memories of any number of our … encounters … that would translate into abuse."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, before amending: "Maybe a few."

He sneered at her: "Yes, a _few._ You'll have to use that, offering up those memories to him, but I'm afraid he might expect it to be even worse. _"_

Blanching, she said shakily: "Does he expect you to _hit_ me?"

He looked ashamed, but said softly: "Yes. Something like that. To subdue you, to make you submit to me."

Feeling nausea roil in her stomach, she pressed her eyes shut. _If she wasn't able to create those memories, it could result in her death – her CHILD's death – and his punishment. She HAD to find a solution._

Opening her eyes again, she said hollowly: "Maybe we could enact something?"

"What? I beg your pardon?!" he said, seeming flustered and a little wild-eyed.

"Let's pretend you need to punish me, and then you can backhand me, or something."

He looked shocked, pulling his fingers through his greasy hair, eyes shiftily avoiding hers before he said: "I do not want to do this, Hermione. You don't deserve that. _Merlin,_ even I don't deserve it!"

"My child does. My child deserves to live," she said, much more callously than she felt.

His mouth opened and closed, and he looked deeply disturbed. "It'll _hurt,_ Hermione."

"It's supposed to, and that's why the Dark Lord will believe it," she replied, feeling an odd calm settle around her.

He kept still for a while, still combing his fingers through his hair, before he growled at her: "Don't look so bloody calm! I don't want to hurt you, and you're shrugging it off like what you are suggesting is a _normal_ thing!"

"It's not," she said, still wrapped into that strange calm.

"Hermione, I am _not_ a man who hits women!" He was almost pleading with her, and she wondered why he was so upset. _This was an act to stay alive, wasn't it?_

He glared at her, before saying haltingly: "I don't want to be like my father. I will not be a wife beater."

"You're not," she said simply. "We're going to enact a scene to avoid being killed. There are no similarities to what you experienced as a child."

He groaned, eyes swiveling, before he firmly said: "No. I will not backhand you or hit you."

Impulsively, she said: "Instead of you backhanding me, you could spank me. Would that be enough, or maybe easier for you?"

His mouth opened and closed, before he slowly said: "Yes," looking at her with those inscrutably dark eyes, a slight colour rising in his sallow cheeks. "Would you prefer me to spank you? It takes more time than a quick blow, but it may not be as painful."

She nodded quickly, a blush rising in her cheeks as a quick tremor went through her lower belly – _something she didn't want to acknowledge._

Musing, he said: "It makes perfect sense, too. He would know I can't risk visible marks on you for anyone to detect, but I could spank you every night with no one the wiser as to the marks on your arse."

Xxxx

"Are you ready?" She said brightly, happily, as they were getting ready to leave for the Burrow on Christmas Day.

 _They had spent the morning in bed, opening their presents, and he had Summoned a House-elf with breakfast. The potion for her morning sickness worked wonders, and she had wolfed down tea, scones and crumpets with butter and jam, plus a selection of sliced fruits and another gingerbread wizard. Looking at the small, glazed figure, resplendent with a pink hat and long green beard, she muttered to him, lazily waving the figure: "I hope you'll never decide to grow a beard."_

 _He had almost snorted his tea out of his mouth, laughing at the very idea. "Merlin, girl! I promise I won't. Can you imagine how inconvenient a long beard would be, dipping into my cauldron all the time?"_

 _She had smiled back at him, enjoying his good mood, and she was pleased to know that he seemed to enjoy his present. Resting his head against the headboard as he ate, he had idly leafed through the book she had given him, the author claiming it to be a breakthrough in the theory behind Shrinking or Vanishing objects. Because really, where did the molecules go when you Vanished or Shrunk something?_

 _Hermione, on the other hand, had been reading the book Harry and Ron had gotten her on Arithmancy, while idly fondling the present from him, the beautiful, large emerald teardrop now nestling between her breasts, dangling on its silver chain._

 _"Very beautiful, but oh so Slytherin," she had said with a smile as she opened the box._

 _He had given her a smirk, before placing it around her neck, rumbling into her hair: "You look good in green and silver. In fact, you look good in **my** colours." _

_Something about the way he said it made her blush, and she had thanked him with a peck on his mouth, something that had both surprised and pleased him, before he could hide the reaction behind his Occlumency shields. She kept fiddling with the emerald, noting that the length of the silver chain would make the emerald nestle into her cleavage, but it would still visible when she wore her dress robes. The Malfoys had given her a silver bracelet, and Severus had thrown a series of detection spells at it, before declaring it harmless._

But now, he was sneering at her, looking sharp in his frock coat, their suitcases in hand as he replied: "Ready? Never. I've never voluntarily spent time with the Weasleys."

She shook her head, stepping in front of him to the Fireplace, tossing the Floo powder in as she shouted: "The Burrow!"

They emerged from the Floo into the kitchen at the Burrow, into a bustling throng of people, some busy preparing food, others chattering or playing chess.

"Hermione!" George yelled, seeing her stumble out of the fireplace, closely followed by Severus.

More people shouted "Hermione's here, they've arrived!", and Molly Weasley turned around, coming towards them with a big smile.

"Hello, you two! I'm so pleased you could make it. Severus, welcome to the Burrow, please feel like you are home."

Severus stiffened beside her, but he politely replied: "It's an honour, Molly. Please accept this bottle for your hospitality." Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened, as she saw the bottle of a fine, red, aged Tintagel wine.

"Oh, Severus, you shouldn't, this must have cost a fortune!"

"I'm sure it will compliment your delicious cooking, Molly," he said suavely, "after all, there's hard to find a wine good enough to match _your_ cuisine."

Hermione was almost gobsmacked, both by her husband's cajolery – _who knew the man had it in him? –_ but also by the way Mrs. Weasley blushed, clearly flattered by his blandishments.

Then she almost turned cold with dread, as Fred and George came up to them, faces lit up with mischievous smiles, grins as wide as the Cheshire cat.

"Professor, how lovely to see you in our home," Fred and George greeted him. _Gods, they weren't about to try some of their tricks on him, were they? Because if they did, his control might snap and make him lash out like he could do in his classroom, and she wanted this to be a nice evening, and…_

She broke off her musings, and her shoulders sagged a little as Fred continued: «Professor, we rather hoped you could look at some of our inventions. Frankly, we're a little stuck, and we can't see what's lacking."

Severus said a little stiffly: "I trust you are not foolish enough to ask about products that might be utilized by students or _children_?"

The twins shared a look, before saying: "No, not really. These are more along the _adult_ line."

Hermione saw her husband's black eyes glint with cruel amusement, and he mockingly raised his eyebrow, saying drily and quite loudly: "I had no _idea_ you had expanded your enterprise into making wizarding _porn_."

"What?!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, coming towards the twins at full speed. "Are you developing and selling porn? You little rascals…! Filthy things, in _my_ house!?"

Hermione saw Severus smile, and she said softly to him: "Nice set-up, though they were begging for it."

"Exactly," he said, mouth still quirking, watching Molly berate her sons with a very satisfied expression on his face.

Mr. Weasley showed them to a guestroom, Charlie's room if she wasn't mistaken, looking slightly uncomfortable and a little stressed by the shouting still coming from the kitchen. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only a single bed underneath the window and a night stand.

Not looking at Severus, Mr. Weasley said: "I suppose you can Transfigure the bed to a size of your liking, Severus. Molly and me, we're never been much at Transfiguration, and I know you're quite proficient."

"I'll do that," Severus said courteously in his deep voice, putting his arm around her shoulder possessively, making Mr. Weasley almost squirm. She realized, her husband really enjoyed making people uncomfortable. _Such a Slytherin_ , she thought, and oddly enough, that thought was _fond._

Then Severus said to Mr. Weasley: "If there's anything else you'd like a hand in Transfiguring, just ask. I might not be as good as Minerva, but I would like to help you in exchange for your hospitality."

"Oh, yes, it would be lovely, thank you," Mr. Weasley babbled, looking surprised, before he cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to get … settled in, then. Come down whenever you're ready."

At that, the man reddened slightly, and he hurried out the door.

Turning to her, Severus said: "He really believed I'll be all over you as soon as the door closed behind him."

"Yes," she said with a small smile. "For now, I'll go find Harry and Ron."

Xxxx

Harry, Ron and Ginny had drawn her away from everyone, leaving Severus to the hospitality of Arthur, and the four of them were clustered in Ginny's bedroom.

"You coming here for Christmas is brilliant, 'Mione!" Ron said, beaming at her.

Harry snorted, and said darkly: "It would be better if you hadn't brought _him_. I can't really say spending Christmas with _Snape_ was on my wish list, though."

"Harry!" Ginny scolded, "you can't say things like that about Hermione's husband. He's going to be around, so you might as well accept him. Don't make things any harder for Hermione, right?" The little red-head had planted her fists into her hips, staring at Harry with a determined expression. Hermione almost giggled, because Ginny looked exactly like a younger and slimmer version of Molly.

"Sorry," Harry said looking slightly abashed, but he muttered: "I don't have to _like_ him, you know."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said, giving the other girl a smile.

Ginny said carefully: "It looks like it's better between you these days."

Hermione nodded, saying: "It's ok. It just took some time getting used to it. But now, well, I'm still adjusting." Adding thoughtfully, she said: "And so is he."

The tip of Ron's ears flared red, but awkwardly and bravely, he asked: "He's good to you, then? Not forcing you to do anything you don't want to? We'll help you with _anything_ , just ask, you know, even though it would be something from your … _private…_ life."

She arched an eyebrow to him, saying pointedly: " _No_ , Ron, he's not. I'm not complaining."

Both boys looked somewhat sick, and Harry groaned: "Ron, please don't ask her anymore questions about her sex life. I can't stand thinking about that."

Ginny laughed, and gave both Harry and Ron a shove. "The two of you are such virginal, prudish prats! I'm sure Hermione gets Snape off every night, and that he returns the services."

Hermione gasped in mortification, and the faces of the two boys exploded into crimson. Ron said, embarrassed and angry: "Really, Gin, do you have to be so crass about everything? Just because you let Dean stick his prick into you at every opportunity, doesn't mean you know everything and…"

Ginny shrieked in rage, and swatted Ron with a pillow, feathers exploded all over the room, and Ron pulled the duvet from underneath Ginny, causing her to fall off the bed and onto the floor. Through the ensuing chaos, Hermine saw Harry looking despondently down into his lap. _Oh,_ she thought, _that's the way the wind is blowing, is it?_

Xxxxx

She was standing in their room, nervously twiddling her hair, butterflies somersaulting in her stomach. Her hair was still damp from her quick shower, and she was staring down at the suitcase on their bed. She was about to dress for Christmas Dinner, but… _would she dare? He'd probably think her to be stupid and silly, but then again maybe not. Gods, she was a Gryffindor. If she had packed the damned things, then she could very well wear them!_

Opening her suitcase with determination, she plucked out her black, lacy lingerie, the one with the open crotch on the knickers and the brassiere with an opening for her nipples. _He had picked the lingerie out himself. That had to mean he wanted to see her in it, didn't it?_

Swallowing, she grabbed the items and put them on. The lingerie magically shrank until it fitted snugly around her hips and breasts, her nipples poking out, his gift, the emerald teardrop, being framed by the swell of her cleavage. Conjuring a large mirror, she took a long look at herself. _She had to admit, it looked kind of sexy_. Feeling a little more certain of herself, she fished out her stockings, and pulled them up her legs to the top of her thighs. The stockings kept themselves up magically, and she put on her black shoes with a small heel. Setting one foot on the edge of the bed, she angled her hips to see how much of her private parts the open crotch would reveal. _Oh, it revealed more than she had imagined,_ she thought, feeling a little panicky.

At that, the door opened, her husband entered and they both froze. He recovered first, slamming the door shut behind him, his eyes never leaving her.

A blush rose in her cheeks, as his eyes roved over her, black fire burning at her, feeling like little licks of flame swept over her body. Her nipples hardened, and she felt herself flush with heat. Swallowing deeply, he moved slowly forward, until he stood right behind her. Raising a hand to brush lightly over her breasts, he whispered: "Do you want to skip dinner?"

Smiling, pleased at his reaction – _her daring had paid off, didn't it? –_ she shook her head. "I hadn't planned for you to see this until afterwards."

"Oh," he said silkily, "now I have. And I'll be thinking about it all night." He stepped closer to her, grabbing her hips, grinding himself into her, his cock already a hard bulge against her back. Nuzzling into her hair, he growled: "And I'll be thinking about your bare slit underneath your clothes, or if the fabric of your dress will chafe at your nipples, making them stand out like hard, little pebbles, and I'll think about how I will throw you on the bed and ravish you when the night is over. My little wife, we'll make it a **_very,_** **_early_** night."

His hands slid down, parting her folds, and he rubbed at her, saying with a pleased, but surprised groan: "You're all wet for me, already, gods, Hermione…"

A shout from downstairs broke through their moment, and they heard Bill yell: "Will you leave off spiking the mince pies, George! How old are you – fourteen? If your mother saw you, you'd be sorry!"

Severus shook his head, still rubbing her sex gently, and he said: "They will never, ever grow up."

She nodded in agreement, smiling ruefully.

As he retreated to dress himself, she asked him as she took her dress off the hanger: "Did they show you their products?"

At that, he grinned evilly, and nodded. "I pointed them in the direction of some improvement. They will work it out, eventually."

Frowning at him, as she pulled her dress down over her head, she said: "What do you mean? Did you trick them?"

"Can't spoil all the fun, now, can I? But unless you're not aiming to live a short stint as a canary, don't try their cream biscuits."

"As a canary?" she said weakly.

"They were aiming to cram a Love Potion into a cream-filled biscuit. Quite a good idea, actually, except for them having trouble to get a strong enough brew for such small doses."

"And now people will end up as canaries instead?"

"Yes," he chuckled, "or rather George and Fred will. As I understand, they always test their stuff on themselves. You see, if you substitute rose thorns with canary claws, the potion will turn you temporarily into a yellow canary."

"They might sell that, too," she said doubtfully.

"I'm sure they will. But as they're testing it tomorrow morning, I'll get to see their shock and disbelief. I asked to be registered for a five percent revenue on the sales, and they agreed to it. It'll be a hit for the students, don't you think?"

She stared at him. _Had he been drinking? Seriously, did Severus Snape, mean Professor extraordinaire, just help the Weasley twins invent a joke product that would become popular among the students?_

He chuckled even more. "Don't look so shocked. Did you think I went into Potions just to brew poisons or antidotes? Potions offer a wide range of possibilities and impossibilities, and I have invented quite a number of brews."

"Joke brews too?" she said, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"That too. Under a different name, of course, and Zonko's is the source of one of my best revenues." Giving her an appraising look, as she was pinning her hair up, he continued: "I hold, currently, 193 patented potions. Around 140 under my own name, the rest under various other names."

Staring at him in surprise, she said: "You must be rich! All those patents… "

Pursing his lips, he shrugged, giving her a speculative glance. "Do you care?"

There was something odd about his posture, like this was a trick question. Then it hit her. _He had grown up in poverty. Money would mean something to him, but she was willing to bet her right arm that he wanted her to **not**_ _care. He would want her to care for **him** , not his money, because deep down, he'd always be afraid that people would think he wasn't worth anything himself, without wealth, position and his power. No wonder, as he had grown up in Slytherin_, she thought.

She shrugged too, saying: "It doesn't change my opinion about you. I have never doubted your ability to provide for me and my … our … child."

 _It was the right thing to say_ , she saw immediately. His shoulders straightened, and in two steps, he was beside her. Tentatively, he stretched out his hand to caress her belly.

"My … our … child," he murmured. "He or she won't lack for anything, trust me."

There was a knock on their door, and Mr. Weasley's voice came through: "Hermione? Severus? Dinner is almost ready, if you'll come down…."

"Alright, Arthur," her husband's deep voice replied, "we'll be down shortly."

Xxxx

Dinner was a complex affair, with lots of side dishes for the roast turkey. Hermione avoided drinking the wine Mrs. Weasley had forced upon her ( _"you are of age, Hermione, and you deserve a glass of wine for tonight, dear,")_ , and she ate sparingly. After all, she wouldn't want to be burping the rather heavy food all night. Her digestion just wasn't up to par at the moment.

Sometime during the meal, she became aware of Mrs. Weasley's rather sharp glances at her, flitting from the untouched wine to the food on her plate.

In a lull of conversation, she leaned over the table, whispering quite loudly to Hermione: "Are you pregnant, my dear?"

A stunned silence fell over the table. Hermione swallowed, glancing at Severus. He gave her an imperceptible nod, and she said stiffly to Mrs. Weasley: "Yes."

For about two seconds, the room was quiet, faces filled with shock, and then Mrs. and Mr. Weasley both shouted at the same time: "Congratulations!"

"This is wonderful – a baby!" Mrs. Weasley sniffled, "to think our Hermione is having a baby! Oh, Severus, you must be so proud and happy. Merlin, Arthur, I miss babies, don't you too?"

"Quite so, my dear, but not as much as you," Mrs. Weasley said stoically, before extending a hand to Severus across the table, not quite managing to reach the other wizard's hand, before he mumbled: "Oh bugger, this calls for a celebration!"

Mr. Weasley rose from his chair a tad unsteadily, and came around the table to where Severus was sitting. Hermione stared wide-eyed as her husband rose too, and then Mr. Weasley patted his back and _hugged_ Severus. The rest of the Weasleys and Harry was staring open-mouthed at Mr. Weasley, and she just knew that they all thought Severus would hex him to Camelot and beyond.

But her husband patted Mr. Weasley's back too, and said calmly: "Thanks, Arthur, I suppose you'll have to give me advice on handling this."

The remaining Weasleys scrambled up from their chairs, to shake hands, hug her (and not her husband, she noted), Harry and Ron was staring pale and ed wide-eyed at her, and Ginny was squealing. The next fifteen minutes was a confusing chaos of hugs, shouts, questions and whispered advices, and Severus had to partake in several toasts to themselves and their baby. After the meal, Harry and Ron snagged her up, pushing her towards a nook by the fireplace.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry said accusingly.

"I would have," she said, "eventually. It's still very early, and it still feels unreal."

"Still," Ron said, "now you won't have to have sex with him. At least, that's a good thing, right, 'Mione?"

He gave her a tremulous smile, and Harry nodded vigorously.

Shaking her head, she told them: "You must stop saying things like that. This marriage is for life, as you know. I have to care for him, and he has to care for me, or else our life will be hell. There's no middle way."

Harry shuddered in disgust, sighed and said: "I can see that. I just don't have to like it. This is fucking awkward. _Snape_ , of all people, knocking you up. You, Hermione, _you,_ who should have the brightest career this side of Voldemort, and now you're going to be house-wife to the greasy git, mothering his babies. I can't fucking believe it."

Ron, on the other hand, shrugged. "It's not that bad, Harry. Hermione will manage, and if anyone can become Minister of Magic with a toddler on her hip, it's her."

She sniffled, almost tearing up again, and fought hard to regain control over her emotions behind her Occlumency shield, just saying weakly: "Thank you, Ron, that was sweet of you."

Ron just nodded, and then he said slowly: "Seeing you both here, outside school, make you seem more of a regular couple and less like teacher and student. He's attentive to you, even polite, and you smile at him and touch him voluntarily. If I didn't know the facts, I'd believe you had gotten married the usual way."

"The usual way?" she asked dumbly, feeling her shields waver again.

"Yeah, like falling in love. You know, those things that people do, Hermione," Ron said, laughing at her moonstruck face.

It became too much for her, and she threw her arms around Ron's neck, sobbing. _Love?_ _It was not for her. He loved someone else, this dead witch, not her. She would never experience something like that._

"There, there…" Ron said, patting her back, and she could only imagine the horror on his face, as he, in all probability, silently mouthed his shock to Harry.

After a few moments, she felt familiar arms taking hold of her, turning her around, and she hid her tear-streaked face into the comforting embrace of her husband.

Xxxx

A few hours later, they were alone in the bedroom. "What was that about, Hermione?" he said, both worry and curiosity tinging his voice.

 _She had cried for a while, and after cleaning herself up, she had excused herself to everyone by saying her pregnancy hormones had gotten the best of her, there was nothing to worry about. Mrs. Weasley had told her was perfectly normal, and that she had been a crying mess in at least three of her pregnancies. Gratefully, she had accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Weasley, while her husband was offered a Firewhisky from Mr. Weasley, with the sage advice of keeping quiet, always have a handkerchief ready and never ever disagree with a pregnant witch._

"I don't know," she said, not meeting his eyes. _She couldn't tell him she had cried because he wasn't in love with her – that was tantamount to … what, exactly? Nothing good, she was sure._

"Hermione," he said, fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I don't understand why my wife was being reduced to a sobbing mess in Ronald Weasley's arms on Christmas Day for no reason at all."

Blinking, the fact slowly registered in her brain that this time, he _hadn't_ gone off on a tangent in jealousy and rage, by seeing her in the arms of another wizard. Instead, he had come for her, comforted her and held her. She peered suspiciously at him, knowing that he, the consummate Slytherin, wasn't above to feign caring to lull the Weasleys into believing his good intentions, but even now, when they were alone, he was gentle.

Giving off a ragged sigh, she said, thinking she'd probably regret it: "Ron said we looked almost like a normal couple." Silently, she willed him to stop the questioning, but of course, he didn't.

"And…?" he said, black eyes drilling into hers.

Her voice very small, she closed her eyes as she whispered, a stupid tear escaping her eyelids again: "He said from the way we acted, we could have been a couple in love. But I know you'll never love me. You love _her_. I won't experience something like that, _ever."_

He stilled for a moment, before pressing her into his chest. His voice was ragged and broken as he replied: "I may not offer you love, but do not doubt that I will protect you with my life and take care of you. You deserve so much more than me, Hermione. You're too good for a grizzled, old Death Eater with too many sins to count. You should have had a young, handsome, brilliant wizard at your side, not being bogged down by a forced marriage to an old man, with a child you do not want."

She laughed bitterly: "I don't doubt that you would protect me, as you say. Most people would do that for someone they love, but you will do it because you are a honorable wizard. You may have done bad things, but you are not a bad man. You and me, we can make a good life together without love, but still, I can be allowed to miss it, can't I?"

He said nothing, and only the rapid beating of his heart told her he was agitated.

And finally, he asked, slowly and hesitantly: "Are you in love with Ronald Weasley?"

She almost rolled her eyes, but said firmly and decisively: "No." _He had to ask, hadn't he? After that display of hers, throwing herself crying at Ron, it was no wonder that he wanted reassurance on that._

"Are you sure?" he said, still holding her to him.

"Absolutely." Clarifying, she said: "Before, I thought there was a chance for something between me and Ron, sometime in the future, but I don't love him like that. Besides, he's with Lavender Brown, and I think he's sort of happy. At least, most of the time. Now, he's simply my friend, the same as Harry."

The deep breath of relief that made his chest deflate touched her more than she was willing to admit. _He cared. He didn't want her to love someone else. Severus Snape had feelings for her. It may not be love, but it was **something**. _The thought made her heart beat faster, and she burrowed her head into his chest, as he stroked her back with long, sure strokes. After a while, her thoughts turned to her original plans for the evening. _This night wasn't about crying. Her plan, as an extra Christmas present, had been to seduce him, showing him that she was capable of acting like an adult too._

Taking a deep breath, she moved away from him. Meeting his eyes, she gave him a wicked, small smile. Bending down to grasp the hem of her dress, she lifted it slowly upwards, pulling it over her head.

His eyes smoldered, and he licked his lips as she rid herself of the dress, now standing there in her stockings, her lacy lingerie with cut-outs and her shoes. Slowly, she let her hands trail from her thighs, over her hips, up her stomach to cup her lace-covered breasts. He made a small sound, eyes locked on her hands, and she twirled her escaping nipples between her fingers. Backing up to the bed, she kicked off her shoes, laid down on the bed, spread her legs, and sent her right hand down to caress her mound, finding the slitted crotch of her knickers, while the left hand still was pinching and plucking at her nipples.

He moved slowly after her, right hand palming his cock outside the placket of his trousers. His chest rose and fell, breathing hard, eyes with a deadlock on her body.

She challenged him with her eyes – _not quite believing that she dared to do this –_ and she put her finger into her mouth to moisten it, before pushing it in between her folds, rubbing her clit.

He tore open his trousers, letting the belt and fabric fall down on the floor with a clang from his belt buckle, and fished out his member. Slowly, he fisted his weeping cock, watching her rub her slit.

"You look so good," he said hoarsely, "so delicious, so wanton, so hot laying there. You wet slit wide open for me, encased in that black lace, your tits so perky, with those hard buds peeking out at me." Drawing a ragged breath, he motioned to her: "Scoot backwards, make room for me." She wriggled herself backwards on the bed, and he followed her, bed dipping and creaking with his added weight, and he knelt between her legs, looming tall over her, so close, but not touching.

She stared up at him, that stern, forbidding wizard, the terror of Hogwarts, but all she could see was a _man._ His face was slightly flushed, his mouth half open, black hair hanging just above his wide shoulders, the smattering of black hair down his pale chest trailing down to his jutting erection, proof of his desire for _her._

His gaze, fascinated, burning, _lusting_ for her, stoked the fire in her, and she panted as her finger chased her clit, the throbbing, building up of need making tremors run inside her belly. He groaned, long black hair swinging as his hand moved faster, his large hand holding that big cock, the red, glistening head protruding between his fingers.

"Finger-fuck yourself," he panted, his voice somewhere between a command and a plea, eyes locked on her sex, and she gasped, "yes!"

The hand that had been busily frigging her nipple moved down to her mound, and she pushed one finger inside herself. She arched her back, saying with a high, breathy moan as his eyes darkened with desire: "Oh, Severus! Oh!"

His hand on his cock became a blur, his chest heaving as he crouched above her, and the sight of him combined with her own finger on her nub made her gyrate her hips on the bed. The friction was not enough, but _oh_ so close, and she whimpered: "yes, oh, it feels so good…!"

He commanded her, voice rough and strained: "One more finger into your cunt, let me see you using two fingers inside your hole!"

She obeyed, feeling a wicked thrill by his command, and the tremors in her belly were coming faster. Her walls were filled up by her fingers, still nothing to the size of his big, swollen cock, and she ached for him, for his cock to fill her up. And now he was growling: "I'm going to come, let me come on your cunt, soaking your slick cunt, Hermione!"

As white liquid spurted out from his cock, landing on her slit in thick ropes, she arched up, belly clenching around her fingers, and she moaned hoarsely: "Seveeruuus!" Coming undone, she trembled, spasmed, thrust against her own fingers, feeling his seed splattering over her mound, her clit trembling and her fingers moving fast inside her as she convulsed around them, finishing with a stroke on her clit, rubbing his sticky seed into her folds. She panted heavily after the throes of her orgasm, and he fell down beside her, pulling her into his arms. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and she listened to the thunder of his heartbeat gradually slowing to its normal rate.

"I'm amazed," he breathed into her hair. She stiffened, fearing he'd criticize her, telling her she acted like a wanton _whore,_ before he continued: "I believed you had decided you didn't want to come for me. Now, I know you will, and you looked so good with your fingers inside you, I only wished for it to be my cock. Little witch, I'll make you come often, hard and in so many ways and positions. We've just gotten started."

Even though she was completely satiated, she felt her belly clench by his words. _Was it wrong to look so much forward to next time?_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _1)_ _Finally…_

 _2)_ _I know, the Weasley twins invented the Canary Cream long before this. It just fitted into the story line like this. I love a secretly mischievous Severus._

 _3)_ _I know, it's bad form to have sex when you're sleeping over at your friends and family. Then again, do you think Severus warded and Silenced the room? I'm not sure. *grins*_

 _4)_ _I know, some of you wanted to read about the party for the big, bad birthday boy. It's in the next chapter, I promise. And I so look forward to writing that._


	8. New Year's Eve

_**A/N** : Sorry about the delayed posting. I said in the previous chapter that I was looking forward to write Hermione meeting Voldemort. And I did, so much that I've written several versions, before landing on this one. Some of you will know that I also ship Tomione, and that's what made this so fun to write (no, Hermione is NOT going to develop any feelings for Voldemort in this fic)._

 _Warning 1: There are some elements of non-con in this, but rest assured, no rapes._

 _Warning 2:This is a very long chapter._

 _Please tell me what you think!_

* * *

He woke from a pleasant dream with a throbbing morning wood, grinding himself into his sleeping wife's rounded arse. _Gods, she had come for him last night, moaning his name. Just the thought made him hot all over, and he wanted to see her come again, preferably on his cock._ The old, threadbare, cotton bedding set was soft against his naked flesh, but nothing could be softer than the skin of his young wife. Pale rays of early winter sun peeked through the striped curtains, bathing the room in a half-light, playing on her golden-brown hair, making golden strands light up.

Curling his arm around her torso, he stroked her breasts, tickling a hardening nipple. She shifted a little in her sleep, sighing gently, and he nuzzled her shoulder. His cock craved more attention, and he retracted his hand from her tits, fumbling at her thigh, lifting it slightly to make room for his cock.

Rubbing himself against her folds, he groaned, making sure his tip poked at her clit. She sighed again, pushing back at him, and he felt his corona slide more easily through her folds. _She was getting wet, and he was getting more and more excited_. He thrust gently against her sex, noticing her breathing becoming more heavy. She squirmed against him, and he took hold of her breast again, pinching lightly her hard nipple.

His wife woke with a breathy moan, wriggling her arse against him, her voice a rusty, but sexy whisper: "Well hello, Severus." There was a smile in her voice which shot straight to both his crotch and his heart, making both ache, and he eagerly lifted her thigh on top of his legs, grabbing his cock to steer himself inside her. With a hard thrust, he was seated in her, so tight, so deliciously wet for him, and her wanton little moan made his cock throb, and he bucked his hips against her arse. He slipped his hand down to find her pussy almost obscenely parted by his cock, spread wide by him, her needy clit exposed and hard, and he rubbed her slit, slowly, methodically.

Grunting, he whispered: "Do you like it from behind, my little wife? To feel your wet pussy being probed by my dick, before I continue on to fuck your cunt so hard?"

He was panting himself, moving rapidly against her, shoving his cock rhythmically in and out in a fast tempo, but when she whispered back, a red blush staining her cheek, he lost it: "Yes, Severus. I love to be filled up with your thick cock."

Taken by surprise at her words, her first _dirty_ utterance, he bucked wildly at her, feeling his balls contract, fire building low in his belly, and he spent himself inside her, shooting out all he had, groaning loudly "Hermione!"

As he came down from his high, he felt almost ashamed. _Merlin, what was wrong with him? With her, he sometimes spent himself as fast as a teenager, getting thoroughly overexcited._ Trying to rectify his embarrassing, too-quick release, he rumbled gruffly in her ear, feeling a rush of wetness leaving her tight sheath as he slid out of her: "You're so delicious, you make me lose my equilibrium."

She laughed, a small, sexy, satisfied laugh, and murmured: "It's nice to know you're enjoying yourself."

"Yes, about that… enjoying yourself," he said wickedly, sliding his hand between her legs from her front, rubbing her slick cunt with his fingers. She moaned, arching at him, and he whispered: "You're so wet for me, your pussy dripping with my come. You liked my cock in your soaked little hole, didn't you?"

"Yes," she gasped, and blushing, she whispered: "Please use your fingers inside me."

"Mmm, yes," he said, thrusting his other hand between her legs from behind, finding her wet slit, pushing his middle finger inside her. Immediately, she clenched down on his finger, groaning. He worked his finger in and out of her pussy, steadily, building up a tempo. She made little moans, gasps and sighs, his other hand on her clit frigging her, driving her towards her peak. When he added another finger to her cunt, she quivered, before a small cry escaped her, her moans becoming louder, higher until she came undone, wailing his name as he finger-fucked her cunt hard and fast, her muscles gripping his fingers, twitching and convulsing around him.

When she stilled, he felt his own cock twitch weakly in response, and he pulled her tight against him, whispering her name contentedly. She relaxed for a while, before she suddenly sat up: "Oh gods, did you put up a Silencing Charm last night?" Her eyes were wide, staring at him in consternation.

"No? Should I?" he said innocently.

"Morgana, how could I forget? This house, you can hear _everything_ ," she mumbled, a blush rising on her cheeks, spreading down over her torso.

He watched the spreading colour with fascination, and said: "So what if they heard us?", smirking slightly at her nervousness.

A little angrily, she said: "I don't want my friends listening in on _that_ , as you can imagine."

"Surely, they won't resent you for having a good time," he said, grinning at her, putting his hands behind his head, stretching out his legs, resting comfortably, _satiated._

"They certainly don't want to listen to it!" she barked at him, and he couldn't resist goading her, relishing the fire in her eyes:

"Oh, don't you think the young messieurs Weasleys wanked their little cocks off, listening to you moaning my name? They probably thought of your taut body, trying to imagine how your tits would feel," he chuckled.

"Severus!" she half-cried, mortified, swatting his chest, "they are my _friends_!"

"It doesn't mean they haven't wanked thinking of you," he said mercilessly, and she almost crumpled, shaking her head, hiding her face in her hands, whispering "nonono." _He almost felt sorry for her, but his smugness overrode his guilt. Yes, she had come for him – again. And he couldn't care less if the whole world had heard her cry out his name._

Xxxx

They entered the kitchen after a quick shower, and a hush fell over the room. No one would meet their eyes. Severus felt a satisfied smirk trying to plaster itself on his face.

"Hello, my dears," Molly said, her cheeks a flustered red, and she turned to the stove, setting off a series of spells with her wand, like she was conducting breakfast instead of cooking it. "Scrambled or fried?"

"Scrambled, please," they both said, and Molly nodded, directing her eggs into a bowl, whipping them up with a whispered order to a wooden spoon.

They sat down at the table, and he couldn't help noticing that young Ronald Weasley's ears were flaming red. Potter was scowling at his plate, two spots of red colour in his cheeks. _They had most definitively heard, as had Molly and… By gods, why was the werewolf in the Weasley kitchen?!_

The wolf looked shabbier than ever, the cuffs of his shirt sleeves ragged and tattered, the blue colour faded, and Severus was willing to bet the knees of his trousers were threadbare. He was more than halfway into what had to have been giant breakfast of eggs, ham and bacon, signified by the amount still left on his plate.

"Hello Severus, Hermione," Lupin mumbled, his keen eyes flitting back and forth, and Severus _knew_ he was sniffing for sex, for arousal, to ascertain if he's wife had been forced to play a role from them. _It made him angry, just as angry as the Marauders always did._ "Hello, Lupin," he sneered back at the wolf. "Did you slink in during the night to scavenge a bit of breakfast?"

The wolf narrowed his eyes, and replied testily: "I arrived this morning, thank you very much, and Molly was so good as to offer me breakfast. It seems she of her good heart invites all sorts of unwanted strays and stragglers, don't you think, _Severus?"_

He heard quite clearly what the wolf didn't say – _Snivellus_ – and looking straight at the man, he delved into his mind, and it was swimming with accusations of rape, forced relations, taking advantage of a young girl in a vulnerable position and all things bad – even the speculation of him turning the girl to the Dark Lord's side. A deep scowl settled on his face, and he could feel his anger building hard, rapidly, climbing towards an eruption…

… and his little wife dug her fingers into his arm, stalling him, as she herself said sternly to Lupin:  
"Thanks for pointing out that some of us has no family left and no places to go, Mr. Lupin. It sets such a jolly mood for Christmas, don't you think?"

Amazed, he saw a sarcastic sneer on Hermione's face, but Lupin looked stricken.

"Sorry, my apologies, Hermione. I didn't mean to remind you of your loss…"

"Well, you did," she sniffed, moving forward and dragging Severus along to sit at the table.

 _His wife was full of surprises. Had she just defended him to the one, remaining Marauder, or did she genuinely believe that Lupin had tried to put them both down? Somehow, he felt sure that she had, indeed, defended him, and his heart swelled a little – though his mind sneered at himself: You hardly needed protection._

The room was eerily quiet, and no one said anything. The only sound was the forks and knifes scraping at the plates. His wife was decidedly red-faced, and she wouldn't meet the eyes of her friends.

Peeking into Lupin's mind, he relished the shock and shame he found there. The wolf wondered if he had it all wrong, if Hermione really cared for her surly, grumpy, evil husband, and much to Severus' surprise, the wolf found that this sentiment was backed up by the well she smelt, his werewolf senses picking up that she smelt like she _cared_ for him.

He ate his breakfast, served by a flame-faced Mrs. Weasley, and pondered this in silence. _Could it really be so? It would be surprising, to say the least._

Then one of the twins rose, having finished his plate – _George –_ he believed, and in passing the two of them he coughed something that sounded like: "Silencing Charm!"

Severus almost grinned, his smugness back. _They had all heard her, and they all knew she wanted him. Deep inside, they had all thought he forced her to bed, but now, they would know that he could make his wife come._ He quickly eschewed the fact that last night was the first time, as _they_ didn't have to know about that.

Young Miss Weasley entered the kitchen, yawning and stretching, and he noted with amusement the way Potter's eyes locked on the girl, a hopeless expression on his face. _Yes, turn him down, girl,_ he thought, delighting in Potter's misery and his own, incredible luck, and almost smiled as he remembered Draco's nickname for the girl: "Weaslette."

The girl stopped by his wife, and whispered knowingly in her ear: "You enjoyed your stay, didn't you?"

Hermione almost choked on her tea, but nodded at the girl, a small smile on her lips.

"Good for you," the girl whispered again, and moved on to plop herself down between Potter and her older brother Fred. Potter scooted over to make room, and Severus almost shook his head at the boy. _That dunderhead, he should have pounced at the opportunity to sit close to her._ _But what could one really expect from an imbecile like Potter? Not much, apparently._

He must have been staring, because Potter suddenly shot him a look he could only describe as both venomous and embarrassed, if such a thing indeed was possible. Colour rose in the boy's cheeks again, and he quickly looked away.

 _Yes, there was nothing to it. This was the best breakfast ever. Severus was simply basking in everyone's distress._

Xxxx

After they came back to Hogwarts, unpacking, she wistfully said: "I'll miss Mrs. Weasley's cooking. She's incredible."

He nodded, before he asked: "Do you enjoy cooking?"

"What?" she said, a little surprised. "I, well, I haven't been cooking all that much, but I can cook simple things… Why?" she suddenly said, suspicion in her voice.

Severus shrugged, and said: "If we were to move out from Hogwarts, someone will have to cook. I don't own a House-elf."

"Do you expect me to cook?" she said, brow furrowing.

"Of course I expect you to cook for me. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, like a good housewife. As you should know by now, I prefer homemade shortcakes for my tea," he said nonchalantly. Seeing her growing fury, he almost laughed out loud. _It was too easy, goading her at times._ Deciding it wasn't worth a brawl, he added quickly: "Do _you_ expect _me_ to cook for you at all times?"

"What, no, but…" she said, flustered.

"There you go. You'll have to cook too. I just wondered if you enjoyed it or not."

She narrowed her eyes at him, before shaking her head. "You deliberately goaded me, didn't you?"

"I might have," he said, feeling almost young, carefree and most of all ridiculously happy.

Standing still, she stared at him, but then her mouth began to twitch. Laughing helplessly, she blurted out: "You're impossible."

Xxxx

For a few days, she had been tired, and her stomach hadn't dealt well with the heavy Christmas foods. She'd been sleeping a lot, and all waking time was spent on their Occlumency. Now, she had gone to bed early again, and he was making his way up the moving staircase to Dumbledore's office. Mentally, he was preparing himself for convincing the old man, but he was afraid it would be hard.

As he knocked, he heard the Headmaster call: "Do come in, Severus!"

Upon entering, he saw with a twinge in his heart that the old man was slumped in his chair, bent over like he was in pain. _And he probably was, at that. The spell and the potion holding back the curse was weakening. After all, it had been only a temporary solution._ Severus shuddered, knowing what was at stake.

"Albus," he greeted, moving to stand before the great desk. The whirring instruments were back in the office, glittering in the weak light of a single, large candle on the Headmaster's desk.

"And how's your wife?" Albus asked, eyes matted and not up to his usual twinkle.

"Fine, a little tired, otherwise good," he replied, before sitting down in the chair opposite Albus.

"What can I do for you tonight? As you see, I feel slightly … indisposed."

"Yes, about that… I need to tell Hermione the truth, Albus. I can't let my wife believe she's bound to a Death Eater. I … can't go on after your demise, if I am to be distrusted and treated like a dangerous Death Eater even in my own chambers. And if Draco can't do it, then, well – you know. I can't let her believe she's married to your killer."

The old man sighed, drawing a feeble hand across his brow. "If so, Severus, her Occlumency skills must match yours. Or else it will all be for naught."

"I believe she'll soon be proficient enough," he said, "the real test will be when she meets the Dark Lord on New Year's Eve."

"Yes, let's hope she's up to the task by then," Dumbledore replied. "Still, you may not have to, I believe she would follow her friends when Tom takes over Hogwarts – or rather when _you_ do it."

Severus groaned, running his hand through his hair: "Gods, are you getting senile? She will be heavily pregnant by summer. She can't go traipsing about with Potter and Weasley, and certainly not with an infant, not to mention that stupid Ministry requirement of once in a week." _He didn't say out loud what he thought: My wife can't be in that kind of danger, hunted with Potter and Weasley. Not my wife, and certainly not my child._

Dumbledore paled, and looked worried. "I'm not as worried about Miss Granger being here with you, as I am of the boys leaving without her knowledge and sure grasp of facts."

Severus snorted, and said: "I agree. Still, it's not fair to her, to let her believe her husband, the father of her child, is a vicious killer who deceived her as to his loyalties. She has sacrificed her life to your cause, Albus, and the very least you can do is to tell her the truth. She deserves that. As a matter of fact, I do too. You saddled me with a wife, now you make sure that the girl doesn't hate me." _He just couldn't stand to return to distrust, fear and dislike between them, he wanted a happy wife who smiled at him, who came for him with breathy moans of his name._

Xxxx

Her tiredness seemed to be prevailing, and it just wouldn't do for the Dark Lord's party. The fumes of his cauldron were hot and almost sickly sweet-smelling, and he furrowed his brow. _How could he adjust the potion against her morning sickness to prevent sleepiness too? A pinch of foxglove was the obvious solution to most cases, but it wasn't safe for the fetus. The same applied to Adderworth and Wiggenweld leaves. What to do…_

Severus tapped his lip, thinking through the possibilities. The sound of the door opening made him look up, and he almost smiled as he saw his wife entering. She sat down on the counter, swinging her legs despondently. His mind immediately turning to what he could to her while sitting on his counter, _the height was just perfect for his hips, and…_

"I can't barely stay awake," she said, interrupting his thoughts, sighing deeply.

Instantly, he felt ashamed. _Here he was, leering at her and thinking of how he wanted to fuck her, when she felt ill because of his child in her belly. It was almost four days since they had sex at the Burrow, and he was starting to feel the need much too acutely. Really,_ he scoffed at himself, _before she came along, he had gone without for months. Now, he couldn't even manage four days without turning into a lecher._

Rubbing his neck, he said shortly: "I'm working on adjusting your potion."

"Oh," she said, bright interest sparking in her eyes. "How do you do that?"

 _Such a swot,_ he thought fondly, before replying: "In this case, I'll be adding an ingredient. Currently, I'm trying to find something that will not harm the baby."

"How do you know you're supposed to add just one ingredient?" she demanded, tucking her hands underneath that sweet bum, almost bouncing on her seat.

He swallowed, feeling the need to adjust his trousers at the thought of her bouncing, not on the counter, but on his cock, but answered waspishly: "Gods, girl, I'm amazed you haven't picked up on this in your readings. If you add more than one ingredient, you'll have to redo the entire composition of the potion. It will change the spectre, and the effects will be different, and requires essentially a reworking of the entire potion into a new one. By adding a very small amount of a single new ingredient, it's possible to tweak the effect without disturbing the whole. Much like if you add a small sprinkle of a spice into a dish while cooking."

She mulled it over, nodding slowly. Sitting quietly for a while, she said: "Did you put a Silencing spell around Skeeter's jar?"

"No," he said, and before she could manage to interrupt him, he continued: "I had planned to Obliviate her anyway."

"Obliviate? Isn't that risky?" she asked.

"Not if you know what you're doing," he told her.

Smiling brightly, she said: "Can you show me?"

"What, now?"

"Yes. She doesn't have to remember anything afterwards, has she?"

He stared at his chirpy wife. _Did she really suggest he'd wipe out Skeeter's memory entirely? No, surely not…_

"I'm sure the world would be a better place without her," his wife said callously, quickly disabusing him of the notion that she was a _nice_ girl.

"Probably," he mumbled, looking pensively at his wife, wondering if he should be impressed or scared. _At the very least, she was much more ruthless than he'd previously have thought._

Skeeter was clearly sulking, sitting in her jar on the moss-covered bottom, slowly clicking her pinchers. Putting his brew under a stasis spell, he drew his wand, pointing it at Skeeter's jar, casting: " _Animalis Revelare"_ , making Skeeter uncurl and reform from her bug form, and he followed up by an immediate "Reducio", Shrinking Skeeter into a size befitting her jar.

His wife gasped, her pretty mouth half-way open, but he tore his mind away from the dirty, dirty images provided by his brain, scolding himself for his thoughts.

A tiny voice reverberated in the jar, screaming: "You bastard, Snape, I'll get you for this, and you, you little hellcat, I'll destroy your reputation into shreds by the time we're finished…"

He shook his head. _Damn, Skeeter was stupid as well, not understanding that she was seven inches tall, and without her wand. It simply wasn't befitting to be that aggressive when faced with overwhelming force._

"You're right," he said to Hermione. Flicking his wand at Skeeter, he calmly and methodically erased all her memories from the past month. The he put a Silencing spell around the jar, before forcing Skeeter into animal form with a quick _Transformo Animalis_. As a result, the bug skuttled happily around in the jar, looking for something to eat.

His wife nodded, seemingly satisfies with Skeeter's modification, before she asked: "How did you learn to Obliviate so well?" Her eyes were beaming at him, and he enjoyed her admiration.

Answering, he said: "It's a necessity for a spy, besides, I have an affinity with Mind magic. Proficiency with Memory Charms is often linked to Occlumency and Legilimency skills."

Then he cocked his head, asking her: "How much do you detest Skeeter, really?"

"A lot," she snorted, eyes rolling.

"You should bring a gift for the Dark Lord," he said, weighing his words carefully.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped: "No, I couldn't do that!"

"He'd be impressed. If he's impressed, he's less likely to burrow to deeply into your mind."

"What will he do to her?"

"Probably release her into the world, after all, she furthered his cause nicely all by herself. He'll enjoy having a pet reporter."

"Won't that help him?" she said, worriedly chewing her bottom lip.

"Yes, and that's the point of the gift, isn't it? As a spy, sometimes, you'll have to help the other side to make it believable. And you, new to his side, need to impress him to get on his good side."

"You don't think he'll kill her?"

"No."

"Ok, I'll do it."

He breathed in her scent, impressed, and leaned forward to press a kiss to her brow. "Good girl."

Xxxx

Adjusting her potion had taken some time and effort, but in the end, the addition of three lightweight Dragonfly Thoraxes proved to be the solution. It was harmless for the baby, as it was also used in the Girding Potion, most commonly used when witches went into labour.

After two days, she was up and about again, but they had also reached New Years Eve. At the moment, he was standing outside his own chambers, waiting for the sound of breaking glass. They were about to enact something that would prove him being violent to the Dark Lord, and he was ashamed to admit that he was already hard, thinking about how her arse would feel underneath his hands as he spanked her.

Sure enough, a crash resounded from his chambers, and he barged in, slamming the door his usual way.

The girl cowered at the sight of him, as he snarled: "What did you do now, you miserable chit!"

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to…" she faltered, broken vials at her feet.

Rolling his eyes, he said silkily: "Do you enjoy your punishments, girl? One could almost think so, considering how many things you destroy."

Meekly, she shivered in front of him, whispering: "No, sir. I do not enjoy it, I was merely clumsy. I was trying to clean your potion cabinet, sir."

Sighing impatiently, he said: "Did I tell you to explain, girl? Down on your knees, I'll shut your big mouth."

She scrambled down on her knees, obediently opening her mouth, and he tore his trousers down, pushing his erect cock into her sweet mouth.

"Yes," he growled, thrusting into her mouth, fucking her face, making her emit small, gagging noises. Monitoring her closely, he stopped before she was overtaxed, and he sat down in the sofa, patting his thigh.

She crept up to him, laying down over his lap, pulling up her skirt and her knickers down, leaving her firm, bouncy arse as her highest point.

He enjoyed the sight for a moment, before his smacked his hand down, making her cheeks jiggle, his hand making a firm, red imprint on her white cheeks. _Gods, was it wrong for him to be turned on by spanking his young wife? He had to make it believable to convince the Dark Lord, but he found that it was very easy to convince himself that this was wickedly pleasurable – for himself._

"Count, girl!" he snarled, his erection uncomfortably hard, being pressed into her hip.

"One!" she squeaked, and he smacked her again. "Two!" Another handprint marred her sweet arse, and he swung his hand again, and she whimpered: "Three!"

As he continued to lay hands on her arse, she was squirming and wriggling in his lap, making him swallow heavily, feeling his arousal keenly, throbbing against her soft flesh, and he felt himself buck slightly into her delicious body. After seven smacks, he noted her breath changing, and it was almost like she jutted her arse up, straining to meet his hand.

At the breathy "Nine!" his nose caught the smell of her, and he groaned. _She was aroused, she enjoyed the spanking too!_ His cock was begging him for action, and at moaned "Ten!" he took a break, rubbing her cheeks, sliding his hand between her legs. His breath hitched, and his cock jerked: _She was sopping wet_.

Severus rubbed her slit, toying with her pussy, and she gave off small, stunted gasps, pressing herself against his fingers. Her red cheeks were beautifully marked by his hands, but he pulled himself together, giving her the last, ten spankings quickly, trying to shut out her little cries of both discomfort and excitement.

Panting, he grabbed her hair, forcing her down from his lap to the floor, and bent her over the sofa. Quickly moving in position behind her, he entered her roughly, and with a few, hard thrusts he spilled himself into her, her needy whimpers, _begging_ him to touch her clit going unanswered.

Rising quickly to his feet, he looked down on her back, her hips swaying as she rubbed her wet thighs together unashamedly. Still playing his part, he sneered at her: "Get ready for the ball. You are not to wash your cunt, but make an effort to look your best, you little slut."

"Please, let me come, sir!" she whined, twisting to look at him with those big, brown eyes. He felt his spent cock twitch, but he shrugged, saying callously: "Your cunt can wait. If you are lucky and beg prettily, I'll fuck you again later tonight."

Pouting, she whispered meekly: "Yes, sir. I'll be a good girl for you, sir."

She rose, sashaying into the bathroom with a coy smile, and he exhaled deeply. _Gods, the girl was a gifted actor. Or had she really enjoyed playing submissive to him? If she did, he wouldn't mind a repeat performance. That is, a repeat performance for the benefit of the two of them, not to please the Dark Lord._

Xxxx

Malfoy Manor was lit up, bright like a small sun in the darkening December night. He released his wife from his grasp, she still staggering from his Side-Along Apparition. Gripping her arm to steady her, he said: "Remember, be meek, obey me and the Dark Lord at all times. No Gryffindor attitude, and certainly no shying away from him, but you can prove your intellect, if you get a chance. Kneel, don't look into his eyes. And, remember your gift."

"Yes, I know," she sighed, her voice trembling slightly.

 _Oh, she had to be scared. The first Muggleborn witch to meet the Dark Lord, apart from prisoners, for years and years. He was afraid himself, not knowing what would happen on this night._

They walked up the gravel path from the Apparition point, cracking sounds following them as more people Apparated in for the party, and the Manor loomed large ahead, bright light spilling form all windows of the dark green sandstone house.

White peacocks were tripping around in the garden, and fairies flitted about, the gravel crunching beneath his dragon-hide boots in the light frost sprinkling the Wiltshire countryside.

His beautiful, young wife was shivering underneath her thin, silk robes, and he _knew_ her lovely tits sported hard nipples, already slightly swollen from the pregnancy, and the swell of her cleavage peeked over the neckline of her dress, his emerald nestling between her breasts. Flitting a glance at her, he admired the white skin on her throat and chest, as she huddled beneath her sheer, thin robes.

Entering through the massive doors, servants took his cloak and her robe, and she straightened beside him, clearing her throat nervously.

"Do I look ok?" she said, biting her bottom lip.

"You're beautiful," he said simply, his cock twitching as he looked at her, despite knowing that he had filled her up with his seed less than two hours ago.

A blush rose in her cheeks, and she whispered, a strange light in her eyes: "Do you really think so?"

"Yes," he said curtly, grabbing her arm to enter the ballroom and greet their hosts.

"My dear Severus," Narcissa drawled, as she pulled him into a hug. "I do hope you had a lovely Christmas. And this is… your young wife?" Her mouth pulled down in distaste, and Hermione gave their hostess a cold smile. Narcissa was, as always, impeccably dressed, wearing a long, green gown, cut to show off her elegant figure beautifully. Her blonde hair was elaborately coiffed, and diamonds sparkled in her ears, around her neck and on her fingers. She looked every inch the aristocrat that she truly was.

"Severus!" Lucius said, clasping his arm. "So good of you to come, I have some things I need to discuss with you…" His voice trailed off, and Severus felt tendrils of anger rising as he saw the blonde man wink lasciviously at the sight of his young wife. Dressed in a white silk suit underneath the black dress robe, the man looked as vain as his peacocks.

Harrumphing, he said: "Now, Lucius, I need to take care of _my_ wife tonight, but please, I'll be all ears another time, at your leisure."

"Of course," the man said suavely, and he lifted Hermione's hand, kissing it, as he murmured: "Enchanted, my dear."

Severus felt relieved and oddly comforted as his wife stared at Lucius with a mix of surprise and revulsion.

"Lord Malfoy," she said politely, pulling her hand away. Her eyes were already nervously scanning the room, her small hand clutched his arm. He could felt her stiffen at the very moment she spotted the Dark Lord. It wasn't hard, by the way, as the man sat on his dais in the middle of the room, obstructing the dance floor. Severus wished he could reassure her, tell her everything would be alright, but that would be a lie. The Dark Lord was so unstable, these days. Consequently, a night like this could end up in _anything_.

The large ballroom was filled by brightly clad wizards and witches, people dancing around the Dark Lord's dais, holding conversations in the corners, taking refreshments and greeting each other with nervous, insincere smiles. Eyes frequently flitted to the wizard commanding the room, and he was talking quietly with those few people daring to approach his dais. Severus supposed, even the Dark Lord could be somewhat in a good mood on his birthday. Just like he had told her, this was a party, not a revel. There were several Ministry toads, well-to-do landowners, researchers and business people there, but also a rather large contingent of Death Eaters with their families.

"Come, let's greet him," he said to his wife, and pulled her along. Her long, black dress almost trailed on the floor, a fitting accompaniment to his long, black dress robe. The sensuous pleasure tingling through his hand rubbing circles into the small of her back, slightly rumpling the soft silk of her dress, combined with the admiring glances other wizard gave his wife, made his possessiveness rear its ugly head. Scowling at the room, he projected an outward thought to all those ogling her: _she's mine. Touch her, and I'll curse you to Camelot and back._

But the real stepping stone was now sitting directly in front of him, and he knelt, feeling his wife sink to her knees beside him, waiting for his Lord to acknowledge him.

"Severus," the Dark Lord greeted him, voice pleased and languid.

"My Lord, I wish you a happy birthday and a successful year," he intoned, still not meeting that red-eyed stare.

"Rise, Severus," the voice hissed. "So this is your lovely, little wife," the Dark Lord said, amusement tinging his voice. "I must say, I'm impressed with you, Severus. Not many men would have taken the time to visit his brethren with such a treasure waiting in one's chambers, but you have shown up diligently these last few weeks. You clearly must have an iron will."

"It's a pleasure to serve you, my Lord," he murmured, privately agreeing with the Dark Lord. He'd much rather be at home, fucking his beautiful wife, than running around the countryside killing Muggles for a madman. He clasped the small vial, handing it over to the Dark Lord. "I've prepared this small gift for you, my Lord, if you will allow it.".

"What's this?", the Dark Lord said, peering at the vial with curiosity, the silvery contents swirling gently as he tilted the vial.

"It's a small, but potent concoction of mine, in honour of your Lordship," Severs said glibly. "I like to call it poison number 171. Ten drops are enough to wipe out a village, if you were to administer it to their water source. It's poisonous to touch, inhale and ingest, and must therefore be handled with the outmost care."

If the Dark Lord had had eyebrows or hair, those eyebrows would have shot to his hair line. As it were, the movement merely wrinkled his white forehead. "Very nice, Severus. You must tell me all about the ingredients and the brewing sometime later."

"Of course, my Lord," he answered. _The Dark Lord was a proficient brewer. Not on a mastery level, but inventive, and knowledgeable enough to ask rather pointed questions. As always, Severus felt a little sick inside for looking forward to such conversations with the Dark Lord._

Then the Dark Lord turned to his wife, saying: "Young Madam Snape."

Severus slowly, carefully lifted his face to the Dark Lord. The creature's eyes were plastered on his young wife, and beside him, he could feel her trembling slightly. "I must congratulate you on quickly fulfilling your duty to give Severus an heir."

"Thank you, my Lord," she said, voice shaking a little. Clearing her voice, she said: "My Lord, I have a gift for you to express my gratitude and well-wishes."

Fumbling slightly, she produced Skeeter's small jar, proffering it up in her hands to the Dark Lord.

"Intriguing," the man said, amusement tinging his voice. "A beetle animagus? Most useful, girl. Let's see who this really is…"

He felt the swish of the Dark Lord's effortless wandless magic, and Skeeter-the-beetle expanded rapidly, the jar growing with her. As Skeeter had reached her full height, her warbling outcry was stilled by a quick Silencing spell, and the Dark Lord chuckled.

"A pet reporter? Why, thank you, girl. I had no idea Skeeter could be this useful. This is a considerate gift, my dear. I am pleased with your willingness to serve, and your … inventive gift."

Severus swallowed, realizing the exchange had been successful, for now. Slowly, he said: "I would like to present you the results of the test I ran at your order on her bloodline, my Lord."

"Do tell," Voldemort said, red eyes glinting with curiosity.

 _He had taken a drop of blood from his grumbling wife. She maintained that there was nothing wrong with a bloodline of Muggles, but she grudgingly accepted the fact that he had to follow through the Dark Lord's orders._

 _"Antecessoris Magicae Revelio!" He flicked his wand towards the drop of blood, making it expand into a sheer, pink bubble, before it landed on a parchment, the blood pouring out, forming letters, creating words – names – and placing the names on a family tree, marking their blood status._

 _Hermione leaned forward, curious, though she still looked disgruntled._

 _The tree read:_

 _Hermione (nee Granger) Snape_

 _Parent: Harold Granger (Squib)_

 _Grandparent: John Granger (Squib)_

 _Great grandparent: Hector Granger (Squib)_

 _Great, great grandparents: Josephine (nee Fawley) Dagworth-Granger and Hector Dagworth-Granger (Pure-bloods)_

 _"Why doesn't it show my maternal line?" Hermione had asked._

 _"Because it only shows ancestors in your magical lineage until you hit a witch or a wizard," he said._ " _And, this was perhaps no surprise at all. The name was a dead giveaway."_

 _She huffed, saying: "Such a bigoted spell. My Muggle ancestors are worth just as much as the magical ones."_

 _Rolling his eyes, he had felt the need to clarify: "This is, after all, merely a spell with the purpose to find magical ancestors. It doesn't say magical ancestors are worth more."_

 _Well, that hadn't gone down well, Severus remembered. She had angrily pointed out that by listing blood status made the spell into a tool to satisfy the needs of stuffy Pure-bloods, not just pointing out magical ancestors. His wife had sulked for hours afterwards, ending with her going to bed without saying goodnight. He had not been pleased with her childish behavior, and had told her so in no uncertain terms. His chamber had crackled with magic as her anger boiled over, her magic lashing out uncontrollably, her pregnancy hormones making it harder for her to control her power. In the end, he had to overpower her to keep her magic from accidentally destroying his furniture, holding her under a Petrificus Totalus for ten minutes until she had cooled down._

 _The moment after he released her was singularly awkward. She was bristling by his show of power and mortified by her own lack of control, and he was angry and felt guilty for using force to restrain her. The had both gone to sleep without talking, glaring at each other from across the bed, but as they had woken up into each other's arms, he considered it a draw._

And now, the Dark Lord was smiling widely, showing off his discoloured teeth: "I knew such a talented witch couldn't be without magical ancestors. Very fitting, Severus, that you should marry into the Dagworth-Granger family. I'm sure your child will become a gifted Potioneer."

By that, the Dark Lord waved them off to greet the next in line, and he breathed out in silent relief. _Still_ , there had been no Legilimency, no awkward questions, and most importantly, no threats. _It was too good to be true_. A chill ran down Severus' spine as he realized the Dark Lord wasn't through with them yet.

"Will he call upon us later on?" his wife whispered, her face pressed into his shoulder as they danced.

"Most certainly," he said. He had his arms around her, twirling her around on the dance floor, as a string orchestra played waltz after waltz. Over Hermione's head, he caught Lucius' eyes, and he nodded towards the orchestra, cocking a questioning eyebrow at the blond wizard.

Lucius grimaced, pointing at Narcissa, and Severus almost grinned. _Who would be punished for this? He knew for a fact that the Dark Lord detested ballroom music. On a revel in 1980, late in the night, the Dark Lord, high from torture and slightly drunk on Firewhisky, had confessed to Severus that he hated the boring, uppity ballroom music provided by their Pure-blood acquaintances, instead preferring classical wizarding composers like Bach and Beethoven, and that he secretly had a thing for the current Squib band Black Sabbath._ Severus was quite sure the punishment would be meted out on the Malfoys, but probably hidden behind some other, obscure reason, as the Dark Lord preferred to keep up an appearance of enjoying the trappings of high society.

The party was well-behaved, more like a posh ball, than a revel. People were sipping their wine, nibbling at finger foods, engaging in more or less polite conversation, politicking, forming alliances, exchanging veiled threats, flirting and trading news.

As they made for the buffet of finger foods, he nodded stiffly at Antonin Dolohov, his arms protectively slung around his wife's shoulder. Antonin followed, trailing close behind them, leering at Hermione.

"Hello, gorgeous. Do you still have the scar I gave you? I would love to see it one day, intimately, when Severus brings you to a revel." His grin was wicked, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

His wife shuddered, her eyes narrowing, but Severus interrupted smoothly: "I'm sure you do, Antonin, but I'm not sharing. We have a Fidelity Vow. Go find yourself a witch of your own, and don't bother mine. Or else, you'll answer to _me_."

The man stopped short, peering at Severus, before turning around with a grunt.

"Thanks," Hermione whispered, as she picked up a small sausage, and he surreptitiously threw a diagnostic spell at it, before she stuffed it into her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she almost moaned: "This was delicious!"

"The Malfoy's tend to do decent food," he said, "if not music." _Privately, he rather agreed with the Dark Lord. Hard rock appealed to him, too. That's what he had listened to on the radio back in Cokeworth in his youth._

They were slowly making rounds, chatting to numerous Ministry toads and lackeys, Death Eaters with their families and so on, his wife looking uncomfortable, nervous and pale.

"Severus, my friend," the tall Augustus Rookwood drawled, his countenance still handsome, though he was closing in on 65 years. His pale eyes devoured Hermione, trailing up and down her body. "You look well," he said, turning to Severus again. "I suppose having such a young wife keeps you fit. She is half your age, right? And your student? My, I never pegged you for taking an interest in those tender beauties of Hogwarts. It must be awkward having your wife in your classroom, especially if you have to punish her."

Hermione flushed angrily, nibbling her bottom lip, and Severus raised his eyebrow at Augustus, replying: "Not at all, my friend. My wife takes all punishments and chastisements in her stride, like an obedient wife should. She's _very_ well behaved, in all respects."

Rookwood almost whistled, and Severus could see the neck and chest of his wife's décolletage becoming a heated red. He stroked her back soothingly, before he leaned down, gripping her chin between his fingers, and said slowly, his voice husky: "Isn't that right, darling."

As he drilled his eyes into her wide, brown eyes, she licked her lips slowly, before nodding jerkily. "Thank you, husband. I aim to be a good girl." Her voice was meek, but there was a fire in her eyes that made heat pool in his crotch, and his cock swelled. In the corner of his eye, he could literally see Augustus fanning himself.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord rose, and the ballroom fell silent.

"My dear friends," the man hissed, "I'm happy to see you on such a joyous occasion. This celebration marks the seventieth night on earth for me, and I'm pleased to share this moment with you all. Our future is a glorious place, where magical Britain will get the respect we deserve from the Muggle populace, as well as from abroad. We will make everyone respect the power of a witch or wizard, and we'll finally command our world as we should have, long ago. The world belongs to us! However, in the meantime, we must work diligently towards our goal, stopping at nothing to win. That's why it's important to celebrate from time to time. I wish to propose a toast to thank the Malfoys for graciously hosting this lovely party."

Narcissa preened in the attention, and the crowd cheered. The Dark Lord toasted them all, nodding and smiling.

"However," he continued, "on this night, I would also remind you that the New Year also is a moment of birth. My trusted friend, my right hand man, Severus Snape, is about to be a father. His young wife, Hermione, thought to be a filthy Mudblood, has just been revealed as a worthy part of the Dagworth-Granger-lineage. I have high hopes for this baby, and ask you to toast the happy couple and their unborn child."

"Cheers," the room murmured, glasses high in the air, light twinkling in the crystal, and Severus felt his wife clutch his arm, a stricken and embarrassed expression on her face. He could very well imagine, she wasn't all that interested in having all those Death Eaters knowing about her pregnancy. And consequently, after the Christmas break, everyone at Hogwarts would know too.

In a corner, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini gawked at them, expressions of disbelief on their faces, and Severus almost smiled. Apart from the shock of Hermione not being a Muggle-born, they were obviously astounded to hear proof that their Head of House really was fucking his young wife, and that their fellow student was expecting a baby as the result.

Smiling grimly, he clasped her arm, stringing her along to meet her classmates.

"Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Happy New Year to you," he greeted them.

They nodded wide-eyed at him, chorusing: "Happy New Year, Professor, Madam Snape."

Blaise fidgeted, eyes flitting uneasily, and Pansy looked, oddly enough, a little jealous as she stared at Hermione's waistline, like his wife would be showing already.

Draco was pale, looking at Hermione with something akin to pity, Severus noted with interest. He shook Severus' hand. Licking his lips nervously, Draco said politely: "I believe a congratulation is in order. When is the happy occasion?"

His wife sniffed haughtily, saying: "In August, Malfoy."

Pansy said: "I can't believe you're having a baby, and a Death Eater baby announced by the Dark Lord at that! This is such an honour, you must be very proud, Madam Snape."

He felt Hermione tense up, a scowl setting firmly in place on her face, but before she opened her mouth, almost right on cue, the Dark Lord beckoned them. As they approached, the Dark Lord turned his attention to them, red eyes glinting in wicked anticipation.

"Madam Snape," his cold voice hissed. "I hear Severus is your Defense teacher, which means you have the opportunity to learn from one of the best. How would you try to avoid my Avada?"

They both stopped short, and he felt panic fluttering in his chest. _He won't do it in here, to many witnesses, it's a test, it got to be a test!_ he thought feverishly, at the same time readying himself for fighting his master to save his wife and child, body on high alert, muscles tensing and magic gathering.

His wife blanched, but to his surprise, she straightened her back, and answered in a clear voice: "I could try to deflect it with objects, my Lord. Chances are I wouldn't be able too – not if _you_ were the caster, my Lord."

Forcing himself to relax, ever so imperceptibly, Severus saw that this indeed was the right way to handle such a question. Then Voldemort smiled, showing off his uneven teeth, and said: "How about a tryout?"

Stiffening again, he felt Hermione almost tremble on his arm. Protesting, he said urgently: "My Lord, please, she's carrying my child!"

Chuckling, the Dark Lord laughed it off, before rising from his throne. "Madame," he said playfully, holding out his arm. Hermione's eyes flitted back and forth from the tall, gaunt frame and to Severus, and gritting his teeth, he nodded at her. She stepped slowly forward, delicately letting her hand rest on the Dark Lord's arm, and he led her out onto the dance floor.

Severus stood flabbergasted to the side, watching the impossibility of the Dark Lord _dancing_ with his wife. Lucius sidled up to him, and said in a low whisper: "Why?"

He could only shake his head, having never ever seen the Dark Lord bother to _dance_. Clearly, the man had been dancing at one point in his life, because he was proficient, much more so than Severus himself, he noted with bitterness, as his master swept his wife around the floor, that thin, skeletal frame moving so gracefully. She looked so shocked, and he could see she did her best to avoid meeting those red eyes locked on her pretty face.

Severus could hear snatches of their conversation. The Dark Lord started by asking her questions about her schooling, and, surprisingly enough, he launched into a debate on the merits of Conjuring as opposite to Transfiguration.

His swotty little wife perked up, eager as always for a magical debate, arguing: "I think it's easier for most to Transfigure, because it takes less magical energy to Transfigure than to Conjure."

"Ah," said the Dark Lord, swirling past himself and Lucius, asking: "In your opinion, would that be the case for a truly powerful witch or wizard too?"

"No," said his little wife decisively, "I don't believe that, as the amount of magical effort wouldn't be as daunting for someone powerful."

The Dark Lord nodded sagely, saying: "I agree. When you reach a certain level, one doesn't have to worry about that. However, are you aware that _you,_ Madam Snape, will reach such a level of power in, let's say, ten years?"

"Me?" she said, wonderingly. Severus almost bit his tongue. _She was starting to forget avoiding his eyes._ Soon, the Dark Lord would strike, he just knew it.

"Yes, you indeed, Madam Snape. I can feel the thrumming of magic in your body, and I can say there's few harnessing that level of power you will reach. Your husband, certainly," he said, nodding at Severus, still standing stiffly, following them with his eyes. "Then there's Dumbledore, McGonagall, my dear Bella, the Order's pet werewolf, and a few other of my Death Eaters, but not wizards and witches in general. But tell me, Madam Snape. How do you think Potter fits into this picture?"

She hesitated, but in the end, she said "No. Harry's all intuitive, and he does have power in Defense, but he won't be able to excel in other categories of magic. And that's the mark of the truly powerful, isn't it? To excel in a variety of magical branches?"

"Yes, exactly, my dear," the Dark Lord said, bending his neck, breathing her in, almost like he was sniffing her. Severus did **not** like the way he looked at her, anxiety rising in his chest, and Lucius shifted varily on his feet beside him, also picking up on the growing danger, eyes shifting back and forth between the dancers and Severus.

Stopping in front of them, he could see those terrible, red eyes burning at her for moments too long, she staring stiffly up into his eyes, and then the Dark Lord whispered: "I will return you to your husband. He has done great services to me, and there's more to come: I have promised him you'll be left alone. But after you've done your duties to his house, my dear, you will come to me, having a place in my harem. Your mind will entertain me, your power will serve me, and your body will please me."

Severus felt _numb,_ and Lucius gave him a pitying look, patting his shoulder lightly. _This was a death sentence. Unless the Dark Lord would keep Severus available at all times, which he hardly had cause to believe, it meant that Severus had to die. At some point, the Dark Lord planned to dispose of him, due to the Fidelity Vow, to gain full access and control over his wife._

The Dark Lord chuckled, and gave Hermione a small, cavalier bow, like he was any polite wizard thanking a witch for the dance.

Almost squawking in fright, she stumbled away, still having enough presence of mind to curtsey, thanking the Dark Lord for his attention.

The pale, tall wizard, responsible for countless deaths and the torture of thousands, smiled at Severus, before saying: "You've done well, Severus. Your wife is an intelligent witch, and she won't bore you. She is good for you, Severus, as long as it lasts."

He shuddered, and as his young wife reached the safe haven in Severus' arms, she was almost on the verge of tears. Severus silently begged Lucius to do something, and the blonde interfered smoothly with the Dark Lord, distracting him from the shivering, scared witch in Severus' arms. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, her fingers icy cold where they clutched his arms.

"Calm down," he said slowly, "I've got you." Moving away from the centre of the room, towards a darker corner, he pressed his hand against the small of her back, guiding her, as she was almost stumbling blindly along.

He backed her up to a column, moving in to lean over her, whispering: "What happened?" A violent shiver went through her body, and she almost groaned, before muttering: "I forgot to look down. He entered my mind, like you said, and he…" she stopped, shuddering, before continuing: "he watched all the times we had sex, and yesterday, when you restrained my magic, and… the spanking." Hiding her face in her hands, she whispered, mortified: "He enjoyed that entirely too much. I could feel his … you know what… against my stomach. It was vile!"

He pressed her against him, feeling angry, strangely impotent, powerless to help her, unable to protect her against this dangerous predator with his sights set on her, unable to help _himself_ against what the dark wizard was planning. And somehow, deep inside himself, a strong feeling welled up. _She was his. **His** wife. He wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Not ever. Voldemort was going to die. He should die for a million reasons, but Severus would make sure that Voldemort died for what he was planning to do to his wife. _

He embraced her, giving her a hug that was strangely comforting even to himself, and she clutched at him, pressing her body into his, like she was seeking protection.

A little later, when his wife had composed herself, they were again making rounds in the room, talking quietly with people they met, and then the clock chimed midnight.

The Dark Lord motioned his Inner Circle of Death Eaters to follow him into a smaller room on the side.

"Stay here," Severus whispered anxiously to Hermione, "don't trust anyone. Don't eat or drink anything. Stay visible, in the middle of the room, where everyone can see you."

She nodded, and then the sibilant whisper of his Lord sounded, quiet, yet a loud command in the room: "I would like Madam Snape to accompany us. Do bring your wife, Severus."

He almost twitched in his uneasiness, _this didn't bode well_ , but obediently, he followed with his young, innocent wife on his arm. _A meeting, a torture session, or even an impromptu revel? Whatever it was, it was nothing he wanted Hermione to be a part of._

Entering the antechamber, he saw a man bound with magical ropes, trussed up in the middle of the room. His wife gave off a small gasp, and he squeezed her hand, hissing: "Be quiet!".

"This," the Dark Lord announced, "is the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He proves to be a rather stubborn fellow. We need to convince this man to join the right side." Looking around at his Inner Circle, the man mused, saying: "And who would I pick for such an action. Let me see…"

Severus stood stiffly, knowing what was coming. He held the girl tight to him, feeling her tremble in his arms. The struggling man on the floor was a middle aged man, one Saul Croaker, he believed, brown hair, a non-descript face, medium build – and with a terrified expression on his face, brown eyes pleading with the Inner Circle. _It wasn't helping. Bella and Antonin was already making bets on how long he would last, eyes gleaming with malice._

"Severus. You will show your wife how to cast a successful Cruciatus, as part of her … extended … curriculum this year. After all, you are her Defense teacher. It's only fitting you teach her the Dark Arts too."

"Very well, my Lord," he replied, carefully locking down his mind behind his Occlumency shields, protecting himself from what he had to do. Calm detachment remained outside his shields, and anger, red hot, glowing anger. Before he started, he Silenced the trussed-up bundle on the floor, getting an approving nod from his Lord.

Taking a deep breath, he let go of his wife's hand. Summoning up his magic, he fed his rage at the Dark Lord for his cruelty and for believing Severus would just hand over his _wife_ to his master, his fury at Dumbledore for using him, using _Hermione_ , and he felt the tendrils of throbbing anger gathering, swirling, merging into a hot red furnace, burning through him, setting fire to his veins, making his body thrum with magic, before he lashed out: _"Crucio!"_ at the man lying there on the floor.

Red lightening shot out of his wand, a fiery arch connecting Severus' fury to the twitching body on the floor, and it felt so good, so fantastic to let his rage out, to burn, to destroy, to create that bridge of ferocious fire between himself and that wretch with his magic, to hold it, to pour his anger, his fear, his desperation out, and the man on the floor was silently howling, crying, twitching, spasming, writhing – and then his Lord laughed, that high cold cackle, and said: "Enough, Severus. We need him later."

He reluctantly let the curse go, feeling the glowing embers of his rage still inside, and he turned to his wife, expecting to see horror and shock. She was pale, shivering, cheeks tear-stained, but she bravely met his eyes, reaching out a hand to squeeze his arm. His Occlumency shields almost crashed down by the sight of her. _She would hate him now, knowing what a monster he really was, wanting to know how many people he had killed and tortured, asking if he enjoyed it, because he did, Merlin help him, the Cruciatus felt much too good, like ecstasy. He was an evil bastard, and now, she knew._

"Why don't you rough him up a bit, Severus, making it seem like he has been in a Muggle brawl?" the Dark Lord suggested, watching Severus and Hermione with malicious glee.

"Beating him with my hands, my Lord? Like a filthy Muggle?" he asked, putting a sneer onto his face, wondering if the Dark Lord, the "do-everything-with-magic"-protagonist, was actually suggesting what he thought.

"Yes. I'm sure your pretty, little wife will enjoy to see your muscles ripple when you trash him. Maybe she'll 'reward' you when you get home," the Dark Lord laughed, making the rest of the Death Eaters hoot.

Scowling, Severus shrugged out of his dress robes and frock coat, handing the items roughly to Hermione. "Hold this," he said brusquely, pushing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He lounged forward, grabbing the twitching man on the floor by his neck, and started to rain blows on his torso. _Oh, he knew very well how this was done. His father had demonstrated it, time and time again._

After a while, he stopped, breathing hard, sweat shining on his face, looking at his Lord, and saying: "More, my Lord?"

"It's sufficient, Severus. Now, I think you deserve to take the rest of the night off, to give your pretty wife a good, hard fuck. Before you leave, my dear," the pale, snake-faced wizard said, leering hideously at Hermione, "come over here."

She gave him back his coat and robe, stepped forward, nervousness radiating in uneasy waves from her, until she stood in front of Voldemort. His tongue flitted out to lick his lips, and his eyes roved over her. "Turn around," he gritted out, voice hoarse and husky, and she obeyed. Her eyes pleading with Severus, he forced himself to remain calm, while dressing himself quickly in his frock coat and robes.

Bellatrix was squinting angrily at his wife, while chewing worriedly on the nails of one hand, clearly upset that the Dark Lord showed attention to another female. Severus, despite his dread, mentally noted her anger: later, she was likely to try to punish Hermione for any attention from the Dark Lord. Though he was sure, for the last couple of months, he had seen the Dark Lord with several other witches. _Maybe Bella had fallen from favour?_

With a flick of the Dark Lord's thin, skeletal finger, Hermione's skirt lifted, and, leering, he reached out a hand to caress her bum. "Still nice and red from the spanking you received from your husband, just like I imagined," he murmured, giving her a hard slap on her arse cheeks.

She started forward, wincing, but Voldemort's hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder, holding her still with his left hand, as he dealt another ringing smack to her with his right hand. Severus couldn't quite see what he did after that, but seeing tears leak from her eyes, her chest heaving in panic, he could only surmise that the Dark Lord was fondling her arse.

He kept himself rigidly still, but his vision reddened, and he had to force down his mad, raging fury behind his Occlumency shields, swallowing his anger, his body quivering with his effort. Lucius and Narcissa looked at him, worry in their eyes, and somehow, it _galled_ him that they had no compassion for the frightened young witch standing at the centre of attention, only for him, their friend.

The rest of the Inner Circle was staring in rapt attention at their Lord, Antonin even palming his cock outside his trousers, only Bella looking outraged, but for a completely different reason.

The Dark Lord chuckled, showing off his hideous grin, and he leaned forward, breathing in her scent, his thin lips brushing her hair. "Go to your husband, serve him well," he hissed, giving her a shove in Severus' direction.

"Severus, use your time with your wife well. Train her, make her prepared for what having two wizards at once can entail. In a few years, after you've done breeding, when she'll be entering her full powers, you and I will have …so much … fun … with your pretty, little wife." Severus froze, as his heart made a double beat: _He had to make that stupid brat Potter kill the Dark Lord as soon as possible, to keep Hermione safe._

Snapping his fingers, the Dark Lord added: "Bella, come with me," and Severus caught Bellatrix' furious glance at Hermione. _She was not happy to be sloppy seconds, that much was clear._

Severus took hold of his shaken and appalled wife, bowed his head, and murmured: "my Lord," as they backed out of the room. He kept a firm hand around her shoulder, as he guided them quickly out of the ballroom, Draco's eyes following them with a worried expression, Pansy and Blaise whispering in the background.


	9. Partners in Crime

_**A/N** : It's been a long time, and my only excuse is that I'm foolishly trying to juggle three stories. I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

To say she was _disgusted_ , would be to put it mildly. She felt Severus' Side-Along-Apparition as less nauseating than the sensation of those long, cold, spindly fingers trailing over her buttocks, and _that_ was saying something. The trek out of the Malfoy's ballroom had been a blur, her mind too shocked and appalled at what she had experienced, but she clearly remembered the worried look on Draco's face as he mouthed: " _Are you alright?_ "

She had shook her head and shrugged at the same time, making the Malfoy heir crease his brow as he stared at her. The fresh, cold air outside had been a brief reprieve, but she was almost running alongside Severus to keep up with his long legs, and then the sickening swirl and twist had taken hold of her, and now, she had been spit out in an unfamiliar place.

Severus dragged her through a scruffy-looking backyard towards a small, decrepit brick house, and she felt wards tingling around her as he wrenched the door open and ushered her inside.

The house was cold and dark, and the air stale, like no one had been inside for months. Severus muttered something under his breath, and lights was turned on, and a small gale of fresh air entered through the door, blowing around them, making their robes flap, and chasing all the musty, stale air away.

"Welcome to Spinner's End," he said, shrugging as he looked around in the narrow, dusty kitchen. A flick of his wand made a tea kettle rattle out of a cupboard, a whispered " _Augamenti_ " filled the kettle, and within seconds it was boiling. Her tall husband rummaged through cupboards, finding mugs and tea, before saying: "No cream or sugar. You should still have a cup of tea to calm you down." Giving her a mug with piping hot tea, he motioned for her to follow him inside the living room, making a fire roar to life in the fireplace.

"Sit," he commanded, and she sank down on a sofa, the springs creaking as his weight settled beside her.

She realized, she hadn't said a word since before they had left Malfoy manor. Looking around, she saw the walls were covered with bookshelves, groaning under the weight of the heavy tomes. At any other time, she would have been delighted, but now… _No, there was something wrong with her. She couldn't muster any interest for those books. It was like she … was locked … inside herself._ Severus took a deep breath, and said: "That went to hell."

Shaking herself, to get rid of her stupor, she gave off a short bark of humourless laughter, replying: "You can say that again."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said shortly. _In fact, Voldemort had done nothing of the sort, just creepily caressing her buttocks, squeezing them. She had been so scared, so humiliated, and so angry. So … violated._

Her husband murmured: "I'll fucking _kill_ Albus Dumbledore for putting you through this. His idea of protecting you against the Death Eaters worked rather well, as they all will stay away from you. Except, it worked for all the wrong reasons."

Snorting, she said: "I'll help you." Cocking her head at him, she asked: "Do you think his original plan would have worked? I mean, would they have stayed away from me because of the marriage?"

Sighing, he said shortly: "Yes."

"Because…" she nudged, her curiosity prodding her.

Giving her an irritable look, he almost snarled: "Because they're all afraid of me. I'm sure you can understand why after tonight. Except Bella, of course. And now, you've become her mortal enemy."

"Oh." _She hadn't paid much attention to the woman, being too scared to focus on anything but Voldemort, and Severus – her poor husband, forced to a heinous act of torture and violence. It was because of her, she was sure. Voldemort had wanted to see her reaction. She just hoped she had been able to stay calm enough, feeling those red eyes, pitiless, slithering over her as her husband forced his anger out of his wand, to rain suffering and pain on an innocent man._

Hermione felt deeply sorry for Severus, because she knew he felt awful for torturing the man, both because it was morally wrong, but she also suspected that he hadn't wanted her to see him committing such acts.

Sitting quietly for a while, sipping their tea, she tried to come to terms with what she had experienced. _Severus torturing an innocent man._ _Voldemort wanting to include her in a harem at some point in the future. The awful feeling of his mind inside hers, slithering over her thoughts and memories._ Shuddering, she couldn't quite believe what she had experienced. _And how would that **thing** he wanted from her come to pass, with the Fidelity Vow?_

Blinking, she said slowly, anger building as she realized: "He means to kill you, doesn't he."

"Yes," he said, giving her a quick glance.

Pressing her lips together, she narrowed her eyes. "We kill him first."

"I hope so," her husband shrugged, his eyes far away, his face oddly closed up.

"We do," she insisted, "if Harry's not up to it, we'll do it. I will not let him touch me. And I most certainly will not let him kill you!"

He stiffened slightly, staring straight ahead, as he softly said: "Then you'd be free. You could meet someone else, someone your own age."

Snorting angrily, she said: "You're the father of my child. You'd better make sure you stay around. I will not let you die."

Glancing at her again, he started, made as if he was going to say something, but instead, he merely shook his head, keeping shut, hiding himself behind his hair.

She leaned back on the sofa, staring at the roof, trying to breathe normally. _She would not end up in Voldemort's harem. She would not let that vile creature touch her. She would find a way, together with this man sitting beside her._ Yawning slightly, she leaned her head into his shoulder. He twitched, like the gesture was completely foreign and unexpected, but she asked lazily: "Are we going to sleep here?"

"There are bedrooms upstairs," he said curtly.

"Good."

She sat still for a while, humouring herself with all the ways she wanted Voldemort to die, before she once again yawned.

He sprang to action, rising from the sofa, and said: "I'll show you my bedroom."

Nodding, she plodded after him up the narrow stairs, the carpet faded and threadbare, and on top of the small landing, he pointed to what had to be the bathroom.

Entering, she found it small, cramped and dusty, like everything else in the house. Grimacing, she Scourgified every surface with a swish of her wand, before Conjuring a toothbrush and toothpaste. The effort made her think of her discussion with Voldemort, and shuddering, she wondered what that creep had meant by "having two wizards." She decided, _she did NOT want to find out_ , but her mind provided her with some colourful alternatives that made her gag on her tootbrush.

Finishing her ablutions, she went out to see where Severus had gone. There were another two doors on the landing, but only one was lit up. The room was small, with a narrow cot, and almost all the floor space was taken up by the large form of her husband. He stood tall and brooding in the middle, dressed only in his shirt and trousers, barring her way.

After a while, he said: "There are two bedrooms here. I haven't changed anything from my parent's bedroom, but I don't want to sleep there. Can you make do in this room, if I take the sofa?"

His voice was unsure, questioning, and somehow, it touched her. Looking at him properly, she saw he had that guarded, strange look, like he expected her to reject him. _Oh. He would think she was put off by the torture and the violence he had committed, maybe even repulsed by him. In a way, she was, but at the same time, she knew he didn't have a choice. It wasn't his fault, and she couldn't – wouldn't – hold it against him._

"No," she said. "I'll just curl up into you like I usually do, though it's a tight fit."

His head whipped towards her, those black eyes burning against her skin, a stark contrast to the paleness of his face, and he gripped her shoulder, almost painfully, asking very slowly: "Why, in Merlin's name, would you do that? Tonight, of all nights?"

Feeling almost trapped by his eyes, by his scary intensity, she swallowed, licked her dry lips before whispering: "Because I care."

He lingered for a moment in the same position, before lurching forward, crushing her to him, voice almost strangled, as he groaned out: "Make me feel alive, Hermione, make feel like I'm not a monster."

"You're not," she said, nose pressed into his chest, the fabric of his shirt scratching her. _Clearly, this meant a whole lot more to him, than it did to her. But she was prepared to comfort him. He needed her, and a strong, protective feeling welled up in her._

She rubbed his back, stroking his flanks, and he breathed into her hair, his hand gathering a fistful of her riotous curls, pulling her head back, his mouth descending on hers with a growl.

His tongue pried her mouth open, and she kissed him back, running the tip of her tongue over his lips, lips locking and moving in a furious embrace. Gone were thoughts of Voldemort, of the future, and it was only _here, now, **him**_ in her mind.

He ran his hand down her back, cupping her arse, and the other came up to fondle a nipple, making it stand out, hard, against the silk fabric of her dress. Moaning into his mouth, her head craned back as far as it would go, he backed her up against the bed. As her knees made contact with the bed's frame, he pushed her down, Divesting her of her clothes, making them land neatly folded on the small desk by the window. His own clothes followed, and then he was naked too.

The tall, pale wizard stood in front of her, black hair smattering his chest, cock jutting forward, and eager droplet glistening on the tip of the large, bulbous head. Feeling heat pooling in her stomach, she wrapped her hand around him, feeling that warm, smooth, silky skin covering his rock-hard erection, and leaning forward, she licked the tip, making his eyes roll backwards and his hips thrust forward. She opened her mouth, letting him in, feeling his thick cock sink into the hot depths of her mouth, and he groaned, thrusting gently.

Her own hand snaked between her legs, rubbing her clit, feeling her own, wet silkiness around her finger. _And those sensations…_ The taste of him, clean, salty and a bit musky, and her own nub begging to be stroked, tickled, rubbed, made her pant around his cock.

"I need you," he gritted out, pulling back, "I need to be inside you."

She moved to the side, and as he sat down onto the narrow cot beside her, she pushed him back, climbing on top of him.

"I want this," she said, her voice oddly shaky. "I want to sit on your cock, to ride you."

Grabbing hold of him, she steered him to her wet folds, rubbing him against her clit, moaning softly.

He gave off an agonized grunt, pleading with her: "I need to be inside you, _now,_ Hermione!"

Giving him a languid smile, she placed him at her opening and pushed down. Both of them sighed, as her walls expanded to make room for his thick member, her weight forcing her down on his shaft. Rocking forward and up, she contracted her vaginal muscles, squeezing his cock, and leaning back, she pulled his hand to her clit. Using his thumb to rub her, she twitched visibly, lifting up, impaling herself again, moving faster, letting the sensation of his hard cock fill up her insides take over. Her breasts bounced as she moved, and his eyes widened, following the movement with his eyes, desire virtually rolling off him, and his other hand clamped down on a breast, squeezing her lightly, fingers rolling her nipple in a circle.

Plunging herself down on his shaft, an embarrassing wet, squishy noise emerging as she moved, she felt the fire build in her belly, tension arching in her legs, and she was gasping, twitching as her eyes locked on his, wordlessly saying: "I love this, I want you. This is so good, I care for you, I love…"

At that, she felt him harden impossibly, cock straining against her walls, and she came undone, the crescendo building inside, making her see a flash of blindingly white light behind her eyelids. Moaning, spasming, clenching around that hard, wonderful cock filling her up so deliciously, she panted above him, and he stiffened, jerking into her erratically, shooting his load with a loud groan, shouting: "Hermione!" as he came, bucking into her.

When he was done, she sank down onto his chest, letting her body feel the thrum of his mad heartbeat. His seed trickled out of her, slowly, making her thighs sticky. But she burrowed into him, sighing contentedly, letting her body relax into the afterglow.

Xxxx

"Hello."

Harry's greeting was clumsy, a brief word and a quick pat on the shoulder, and Ron silently hugged her, not saying a word. Both boys avoided meeting her eyes, and they both had a slight flush on their faces. Something inside her cringed, a horribly, twisting feeling in her guts. _Merlin, were they still upset about that unfortunate listening in on Severus and her at the Burrow? Gods, Severus wasn't right, was he? They hadn't …done … anything to themselves, listening to them?_ She felt her own blush creep up her cheeks, and she felt almost sick inside. _It couldn't be. They were like her brothers. They just had to be really, really bothered by what they had heard. They couldn't have._

The snow creaked softly underneath their feet, as they trudged towards Hogwarts from the train station, opting to walk instead of riding the thestral-drawn carriages. She had met them down at the station, Severus escorting her, claiming it was too dangerous for her to be out alone. Thankfully, he had left, after organizing and sorting the students into the carriages. _Or else, this would have been so much worse._

Their breath misted in the cold air, and Hermione rubbed her hands together, before casting a Warming Charm on her mittens. Her cheeks burned in shame, for even entertaining the thought that her friends might have…

Harry looked shiftily over her head, his mumbling breaking the oppressive quiet weighing them down: "I haven't done my Transfiguration homework over the break, Hermione, can I _please_ copy yours? It's due tomorrow, and I haven't had the time…"

She nodded, feeling her stomach churn, pressing her lips together. The silence was uncomfortable and strange, as there should have been light banter, the joy of seeing each other again, and the easy comfort of a great friendship. _She hadn't told the boys of her meeting with Voldemort, but realized, she would have to. Too many people had witnessed it. Better it came from her, but she was scared as to how they would react._

Dusk was falling, and shadows grew between the trees, but the castle just ahead of them was filled with light, smoke puffing from the dozens of chimneys.

As they came up to the great doors by the Entrance Hall, Ginny came running outside, throwing herself around Hermione's neck. "There you are, lovely! Did you have a nice Christmas break?"

Hermione nodded, hugging her friend back, happy to have someone to fill the awkward silence.

Ginny withdrew from the hug, and wiggled her eyebrows mischievously: "Apart from the _obvious_ enjoyment we all had the opportunity to listen in on, then. I suppose you had _loads_ of fun for the rest of the holiday."

Ron shuddered, groaning, as he exclaimed: "Gin! Can you please shut up? Some of would _not_ like to think about the greasy git doing … _that_!"

Harry giggled nervously, before he blurted out: "Now, at least we know you call him Severus in private".

They all stared wide-eyed at him, before Hermione and Ginny both burst out laughing helplessly, Ron and Harry joining in after a short while, the mood brightening and the unease disappearing through their desperate laughter.

Xxxx

In History of Magic just before the lunch break, she had trouble concentrating on the Merpeople attacks during the summer of 1453. Professor Binns droned on, talking about attacks, counter-attacks, truces and death tolls, but her stomach was growling. _She needed food. Her body was clearly telling her that she needed to stuff her mouth with everything she would find in the Great Hall._

Hermione supposed this was caused by the pregnancy, but it felt like her insides were gnawing with hunger, like she hadn't eaten in _days_ , when in fact, she had had a rather large breakfast two hours ago. Smiling a little to herself, she remembered breakfast on New Year's Day at Spinner's End.

 _There was no food in the house for breakfast. Surprisingly enough, he had dressed in Muggle clothing, Glamouring her dress into a Muggle dress to go out shopping groceries. He looked good in Muggle clothing, and his black eyes had dared her not to laugh as he dressed in black jeans, a black band T-shirt with Judas Priest and a black leather jacket. She could vividly imagine him wearing this in the eighties, not renewing or replacing his Muggle attire after that time._

 _Walking for five minutes, they entered a small grocery store, buying milk, eggs, bacon, butter and bread, wrangling on brands. She wanted free-range eggs, while he insisted it didn't matter, as they ate free-range at Hogwarts every day. On the other hand, she wanted to buy a bag of PG tips for her tea, while he, the dread Potion Master, was shocked and appalled, claiming that the only tea entering his house was tea leaves, preferably organic grown Ceylon, thank you very much. Somehow, it had bowled her over to do something so normal, so Muggle, so ordinary, as to go grocery shopping with Severus Snape._

It was at lunch she started to notice that something was off. People had been whispering and pointing at breakfast, but by now, she was used to it, though she knew rumours of her pregnancy was flying around school. On her way inside the Great Hall for lunch, the seventh year Cormac McLaggen and his friends forcibly barreled by her, pushing her into the door frame. It could have been an accident, if it wasn't for the triumphant looks on their faces and the snickers as they moved on without apologizing.

A fourth year passed her by, suddenly stumbling, upending his pumpkin juice down her back.

"Hey, watch it!" Ron said angrily on her behalf, rising half up from his seat, towering over the boy, but the boy just shrugged as he continued to walk. Ron shook his head at the idiocy of "those kids," as he put it, but Hermione felt a nagging suspicion that something was wrong. _Very wrong._

She _Tergeo_ 'd her back, and continued eating, but feeling twitchy and nervous. _People were staring at her. She wasn't imagining things._

The rest of the day, she was surprised when several Slytherins were _nice_ to her: In class, outside class, before and after meals. Blaise Zabini held the door open for her in Charms, and Theodore Nott offered to carry her books to the Arithmancy classroom on the seventh floor of the West Tower, as Harry and Ron went off for a free period. She gave a grateful smile at Nott, as her back _was_ aching, but she also rolled her eyes at the retreating backs of Harry and Ron, knowing that they were heading out on the Quidditch pitch, not into the library as they should have done.

In Herbology, Draco Malfoy actually _smiled_ at her, asking her politely if he could borrow her notes from the last lesson before Christmas, offering her a large chunk of Honeydukes Milk chocolate in return. Greedily, she had accepted, as her stomach rumbled loudly, making its viewpoints quite clear. As she chewed down on that delicious chocolate, she idly wondered if she'd be big as a house by the end of her pregnancy, at least if this hunger kept up.

Now, she was sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, fidgeting nervously with her quill, pretending to do her Charms homework. The fireplaced was roaring with heat to keep the January cold at bay, and she felt slightly toasted, squirming on her chair. The room usually seemed cozy and cheerful, but now, it was just too hot, messy and noisy.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and then he looked at her, saying wryly: "Out with it, whatever it is."

"What?" she said, flustered that she was so easy to read. _The boys were growing up, definitively. Not only was Ron all of a sudden tall as a house, but they were starting to become perceptive, even sensitive sometimes. Not that they had been uncaring before, merely … unfocused,_ she thought. Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, she made a small grimace at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You, Hermione, is biting your nails and simultaneously bouncing all over your chair. You're not exactly inscrutable, though I dare say you could learn a thing or two about that from that _husband_ of yours. Do you need a Silencing Charm, or do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Silencing will do nicely," she said, a little red-faced, and Harry cast an impeccable Silencing Shroud around them.

Ron and Harry looked expectantly at her, and she began, telling them her tale from New Year's Eve. The boys looked suitably shocked, disgusted and horrified, and at one point, Ron exclaimed: "'Mione, you _didn't!_ What if he had killed Skeeter, or tortured her, or…!"

"I know," she sighed, "but it was a good idea to make him more, well, not exactly friendly, but… We most certainly didn't think he'd get so familiar as he did." The boys blinked at her, and she shuddered, telling them the rest of her story.

In the end, they sat silent, staring at her. Then Ron surged forward, enfolding her in a bear-hug, saying: "Gods, 'Mione, this is horrible! I … I … feel, so sorry for you, you must have been so afraid!"

"I was," she confirmed, nodding into his shoulder, "and Severus too."

"I bet he actually was," Ron said slowly, patting her back. "He does seem to care for you, though I almost can't believe it."

Harry was still keeping quiet, a withdrawn, lost expression in his green eyes.

"Harry?" she said slowly, touching his shoulder, and he gave off a shuddering breath, like he had been holding it inside.

"I don't know what to say," he mumbled. "I brought this upon you. Voldemort wouldn't have cared about you at all if it wasn't for me. I'm so sorry, Hermione, I should keep away from everyone to not put people in danger."

She shook her head, giving him a small smile, trying to look braver than she felt. "Not true, Harry. He would have come after me because I'm Muggleborn."

"But you're not," Ron interrupted, "not if you're descended from a line of less than five Squibs."

"Yes, but he wouldn't have known that, would he? Even I wouldn't have known, if it wasn't for this. Consequently, he'd just have killed me like any other Muggleborn."

Harry sighed morosely, rubbing his face, and she hurried to continue: "The best thing you can do for me is to defeat him, Harry. Don't let him stay alive and in power. And don't think for a moment I would let you go away!"

She made a fist, lifting it as to threaten him, and then he laughed a little, saying slightly more cheerful: "I bet you would hex me _and_ knock me down like Malfoy, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she said straight-faced, "I've been having dual boxing and defense lessons with Severus in private. You won't stand a chance. He says I have a real talent. After the pregnancy, I'm thinking about getting professional tutoring in Wizarding Boxing."

Both boys gaped at her, and Ron said with a slight disbelief in his voice: "That's so … cool, Hermione."

Not able to hold back anymore, she exploded into a great belly laugh, clutching her stomach.

Xxxx

During the next two weeks, she was "accidentally" pushed and shoved by Gryffindors, none who said they were sorry, while Slytherins went out of their way to be polite, protective and generally nice. Grumbling to herself, she thought: _This is what you get for being praised by Voldemort. Slytherins fall over their feet to fawn at me, Gryffindors hate me. I wish it was the other way around!_

It slowly seemed to build up, until McLaggen, with four of his friends cornered her in the short-cut-passage leading from the library to the Astronomy Tower.

"Look what we've got here?" McLaggen said, boxing her in against the wall. Her breathing quickened, as she realized that this passage was seldom in use.

"Such a little, delicious Death Eater whore," he continued, grabbing her hips, crushing her to his crotch.

"She's such a hot, little swot," the thin Niall Peckinhome sniggered, "grab her tits, Cormac!"

She swallowed, disgusted, saying: "Gods, McLaggen, how stupid is it possible to be? Let me go this instant!"

He chuckled, his cronies giving off a barking sort of laugh, and McLaggen clucked: "There, little girl. We can keep you occupied for hours in here, just like you're used to with the Death Eaters. I bet they take turns fucking you. Is this child even your husband's, or what?"

Feeling her temper flare and crackle, she hexed the boy with a Stinging hex right in his bollocks.

"Ouch!" McLaggen yelled, jumping around, clutching his precious bits, "take her wand, someone! We'll teach that little whore to take it like a good slut!"

"Fascinating," a deep voice drawled, "that you even believe you can get away with something like that. Threatening _my_ wife, no less, McLaggen? I believe this kind of threats is cause for expelling you. What a shame for Gryffindor."

She had never been more relieved to hear his voice. _Being quite sure she could take down McLaggen, she wasn't too sure about her chances with four boys. And if she hadn't, the result could be … disastrous._

Her husband, clasped a heavy hand on her shoulder, dragging her into his body, while scowling at the boys. "Report directly to you Head of House. I'll be informing the Headmaster."

As the boys lumbered along, she said: "How did you know? Did you just pass by?"

"No," he said. "Malfoy saw you, and he alerted me."

"Malfoy…" she tasted the name on her tongue, like it was unfamiliar. "Did… Draco Malfoy send for you to help me?"

"Indeed," he drawled, stroking her back. "Are you alright?"

"A little shaky, but I'm fine." Thinking about it, she suddenly realized, it was _not_ alright. _She had just been attacked by her fellow students, Gryffindor students at that. If he hadn't been there, if fucking **Malfoy** hadn't alerted him, she might have been violated and raped, the Fidelity Bond making the act into an even more painful, torturous experience. _

Shivering, she felt tears pooling in her eyes, and she clutched herself, feeling her lip tremble. His arms came around her, and he whispered: "Hush, you're safe. I've got you. You are alright, don't think about what might have happened."

She leaned her head into his chest and _sobbed._

Xxxx

The next day, the Slytherins and Gryffindors waited in the corridor for Slughorn to open the doors to the Potions classroom. The corridor was draughty, and the bitter cold from the Scottish winter had permeated the dungeons. She fully expected Slughorn to have a Warming Charm in his classroom, at least, Severus had always done so. But the corridor was just as cold as it was outside.

Draco Malfoy sauntered up to her, leaving his gang of thugs behind, and them he simply said: "Are you alright? After what happened, I mean? I heard McLaggen got expelled." His pale eyes looked at her with curiosity, but his voice was neutral.

Suddenly, inexplicably, she was furious. _Draco fucking Malfoy hadn't cared one iota before she had been married off to Snape. And after her lineage had been revealed, he was so much nicer, even bothering to save her from an attack. He was such a blood-purist, racist little hypocrite!_

Scowling, she said: "I suppose you only cares because in your book, I'm not a 100 % Muggleborn anymore."

Nodding patiently, he informed her with a small smile: "It takes five generations of Squibs for the magical lineage to be proclaimed extinct. You are well within that limit, and consequently, you're not a Muggleborn."

She narrowed her eyes, feeling her anger gather like tendrils of smoke, amassing like a cloud, ready to burst, when he continued, a malicious glint in his pale eyes: "Did you know your great great grandmother was the head of Wizengamot, and one of the more ruthless politicians Wizarding Britain have ever seen?"

She shook her head, unsure as to where he was going with this.

Smirking, like he had known what she was thinking, he said: "She was a Ravenclaw, you know, just like Hector Dagworth-Granger. And your family were famously known as Pure-blood fanatics, your great great gran instigating several laws to control Muggleborns. Actually, when their son was declared a Squib, that would be _your_ great grandfather, they found a Muggle family, Obliviating their son, and inserted false memories into the Muggle couple and their family and friends to make them believe he was their son."

She gaped at him, feeling nauseous. _Was this true? Were her ancestors just as nasty, maybe even worse, than the Malfoys?_ Hermione felt sick by the thought of what those people had done to her great grandfather. _Obliviating him, sending him off to live with someone else… How could anyone do such a thing to their child?_ Tears pressed in her eyes, and she suddenly felt a strong surge of loyalty, of love and protection to the small child in her belly. _You, my little on, I will always stand by you, to be on your side. I promise, little one, I will always take care of you._ Laying her hand gently on her stomach, she turned away from Malfoy.

Luckily, Slughorn opened the door to the classroom, and she marched inside, holding her head high, even though her mind was spinning and her heart felt so _full_ of a fierce, protective love for her child. _Hers, and Severus' child._

Xxxx

People were rolling their eyes, almost snorting with laughter at the paper. _It was most definitively a Rita Skeeter pet reporter story_ , Hermione thought.

The article featured a picture of the Voldemort, hooded and standing in front of a fireplace, his features invisible underneath the hood, but his pale hands gesticulating as he was talking.

The text Skeeter had been forced to write was long and rambling:

 _"The Dark Lord states, writes our top reporter Rita Skeeter:_

 _\- There are so many who misunderstand what we're trying to do, spreading lies, deceiving the public about us. Our goal is to restore the standing of the magical world, to take the place that rightfully belong to us. I'm not after subjugating Muggles, I merely want the Muggles to respect us. We're wizards, we shouldn't have to cower in the shadows. I would urge all of you to think thoroughly through this: Who's interested in holding the magical world back, and why? Remember: There are people who would lose their positions, as the foundation of their power lies shrouded in keeping magic a secret. Consider: what extremes can people go to, just to keep their power? I tell you, it can be lies, slander and even murder! I've seen it all. Still, we continue working towards what we believe is right. The time has come to ask more people take a stand for magic against oppression and fetters."_

And it went on and on. Hermione really couldn't imagine who would be patient enough to read it all.

Harry was fuming. "They must be deaf and blind! To publish a vile piece of shit like that, those lies … those … manipulations!"

Ron snorted. "This is kind of funny, Harry. Whoever will believe that Voldemort is a misunderstood, nice guy who only wants to do what's good for society? This is really, really silly."

"The point is," Harry spat, "is that he has the power to do such a thing, to get it published in the Daily Prophet! And I knew Rita Skeeter was crazy, but not _that_ crazy!" He looked accusingly at Hermione, and she blushed, feeling a little guilty. _This article wouldn't have been published if it wasn't for her._

Ron sniggered. "I think she deserved this, Harry. And the piece is ludicrous, no one will believe it. Everyone will just think You-Know-Who Imperio'ed Skeeter. And no one will feel sorry for her."

Xxxx

Weeks went by in this fashion. Some of the Gryffindors became friendler again, but not all, while the Slytherins _stayed_ friendly – even Malfoy, to her surprise and dismay. March was approaching, and she was reading double hard, trying to prepare for both her end-of year-exams as well as reading up the NEWT-level material. She relished the thawing of winter into spring outside, and the small bump she now could feel in her stomach was oddly comforting and nice.

Severus had only been called upon by Voldemort three times, but he shrugged, saying: "It's not uncommon during the school year. He knows I can't get away at all times." Luckily, those meetings had been smooth sailing for Severus, but she had been worried almost to death while he was away.

When he returned, he had said: "Calm down, I _am_ his right hand man. It's not like he will torture me." But his eyes were haunted, and she never asked what he had been forced to do while away. Instead, she opted to comfort him, mostly by making love. To herself, she wondered _when_ she had began thinking of their sex life like "making love."

Now, she was shifting from one foot to another, feeling a little nervous, standing in front of his reading chair, between him and the great fireplace. It was Saturday, and they were just back from breakfast in the Great Hall.

"Severus, could you take me to Diagon Alley today?"

He looked at her over the edge of his magazine, eyebrows drawn into a frown. "Why? Now?"

"You see," she said, embarrassed, "I need some new underthings."

"Can't you just Transfigure it or do a _Reparo_?"

"Mmm, well. I have done that, but it's not working. There are some obvious limits." She blushed fiercely, making a motion to her chest, before continuing: "The pregnancy … they are swelling, and …"

Her husband's face morphed into a leer, as he looked up and down her chest, and he said: "I've noticed. Alright, let's get going. I need some ingredients, by the way. We'll make a stop in Knockturn too."

He had been very vocal in his likes and dislikes at Madam Malkins, and she was blushing all the way to Knocturn Alley. Now, she was the lucky owner of _more_ see-through lacy brassieres, but in sizes she hadn't even dreamt of fitting into, as well as some maternity bras, knickers and tights.

His hand was rubbing at her back, and he was stalking towards his usual Apothecary with her in tow. Around a bend, they almost ran into a familiar figure. _Fenrir Greyback._ His grin as he saw her was something very much along the lines of a cat looking at a canary, that is, if the cat had long, yellow teeth, and Hermione couldn't help an involuntary shudder.

"Severus, old friend, taking a trip outside your school?" the Death Eater said a little too heartily. "And letting your pretty, young slip of a wife out and about too!"

"Greyback," her husband said curtly. "If you'd excuse us, we don't have the time to wait until the moon is up."

"Oh, it's not full for days," the grizzled werewolf said, his yellow teeth glinting as he looked at Hermione. "You know what they say about werewolves and pregnant women. Your pretty little witch wouldn't fancy a bite, would she?"

"Certainly not," Severus said, narrowing his eyes.

"Because I'd love to," Greyback said, leering at her. "She's so fuckable, Severus, I can't help envy you. Sure you don't want a little threesome, letting your wife have a practice run in feeling a prick up her arse and one in her cunt, before the Dark Lord shows her how it's done?"

Suddenly, her husband was all terrible Death Eater, and his wand was in Greyback's face. "You don't even get to think about my wife!" he ground out, pushing Greyback into retreating a few steps.

"Well, now, calm down, Severus, don't take it like that…" The werewolf threw his hands up in a placating gesture, but her husband didn't back off, instead stepping closer to the werewolf, black cloak swirling around his legs.

"I'll fucking take it any way I damn well like, and you will keep your dirty mouth and filthy paws away from my wife."

"Come on, can't you share the joy? Such a tight, young juicy cunt, I bet she screams for you, Severus…" Greyback licked his lips, staring at her over Severus shoulder.

With a growl, her husband cast _something_ , she didn't know _what_ , there was a violet flash and Greyback was up in the air, his back bent backward, and she could hear his joints popping. The wolf was panting, grimacing and swearing under his breath.

"You stay away from her," Severus gritted out, his voice deep, dark and menacing, "or else, there's only a little flick of my wand before your spine snaps. Can you feel it, Greyback? The joints in your back are popping. Just let me put a little more pressure on it, like that, and you are _so_ close to being paralyzed for the rest of your life. Do you think the Dark Lord would feel sad for his lame werewolf? I don't think so, because you'll get no favours from him threatening my wife, whom he has clearly stated an interest in."

"I … I … I… shut … up…Severus…!" Greyback panted, and Severus released him, the wolf falling to the ground with a yelp.

"Lovely," her husband purred, "this is how it'll be, my _friend._ You shut up, and I … I'll let you keep your sorry life. For a while. Here's just a little something to remember us by." With a flick of his wand, there was a loud snap from Greyback's elbow, before there was a sickening, crushing noise. The werewolf howled, shockingly loud, cradling his useless limb with his other hand, before rolling over to stand, limping away with muttered curses under his breath.

Shocked, she stared at Severus. _He had threatened someone on behalf of her. He had broken someone's elbow on behalf of her. Moreover, she was sure Greyback wouldn't bother her again._ Her husband avoided her eyes, but mumbled: "It was necessary. He only understands violence." Shaken, she put her hand onto his arm again, and they walked away, slowly.

Xxxx

One night they were practicing her Occlumency, he said: "You're getting very accomplished. There's something I want the Headmaster to tell you, and now, I think it is time. Come with me."

"But," she said, "it's after curfew!"

Her husband just stared at her, his mouth twitching, and then that _damnable_ eyebrow went up. "So?" he drawled.

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. "I guess it doesn't matter as long I'm with you."

"Quite correct, Madam Snape," he said, almost grinning at her. "If it wasn't considered nepotism, I'd award you points for being so astutely observant."

She almost stuck out her tongue at him, but instead, she just went to get her robes. _She had learned that if he wanted to be snarky, nothing in the world would deter him. Silly man,_ she thought, but her mouth twitched.

The trek to the Headmaster's tower was a long one, and she was relieved when they finally had entered the moving staircase. _Her back told her it wanted to lie down with her feet up. It had been a long day._

"It's time, Albus," her husband said curtly as they entered. "She's ready, and in good conscience, we can't wait any longer. Merlin knows _when_ something's going to happen."

The old headmaster sighed heavily. Hermione thought he looked so frail, so old, his skin almost papery in the candlelight, but his blue eyes were twinkling as usual.

"I suppose you are right, Severus. I still don't think it's advisable to tell anyone, but I will defer to your wish in this. I understand that anything else will be intolerable."

Hermione looked at them. They were both very serious, and Severus avoided meeting her eyes. _Oh, this would be bad, then._

"Sit down," the headmaster said wearily, waving his hand to scoot two chairs standing against the wall over to his desk.

Hermione sat down, feeling an instant relief in her back, and she gave a small grimace. _She was only four months and two weeks along. If the state of her back was any indication, the rest of the pregnancy would be tiresome. It wasn't painful, but every day, there was a dull ache at the end of the day._

"Severus has asked me, repeatedly, I might add, to tell you about this," the headmaster said. "You will understand, this has to be kept a secret from everyone, especially Tom Riddle and his cronies. No one must know."

She nodded, reaching out a hand to Severus, almost unconsciously, clasping his hand. _It was large, warm and reassuring, and she stroked his calloused palm gently._

"Tom has ordered Draco Malfoy to kill me," the Headmaster continued, and Hermione gasped.

"Don't worry," he said kindly, lifting that dead and withered hand, waving it slowly in the air, "I am already dying. But we can't allow young Draco to destroy his soul like that, not to mention, there is almost no way he would be able to fulfill his task. There is just no reasonable way for Draco to overpower me."

An impatient snort came from Severus, and the Headmaster gave him a quick, wry smile. "Malfoy's mother seems to think along the same lines, so before the school year started, she wrung an Unbreakable Vow out of Severus, to make him help Draco, any way he could. Therefore, I have requested that Severus kill me no later than the end of the year."

Stunned, she stared at the Headmaster. _Severus kill Dumbledore? Just to help Malfoy? KILL Dumbledore, and no one was to know he had been ordered to do it? Everyone would think he was…_ _If she hadn't been told, she'd feel…_ Anger pooled quickly inside, like a lava flow gathering, swelling, erupting, and before she knew it, she was on her feet, her finger up under the Headmaster's long, pointed nose, and she was shrieking: ""You can't do this to Severus!"

The Headmaster looked baffled, but she was on a roll. Her magic was blazing through her, and she poked her finger into Dumbledore's chest: "Your first plan, not telling anyone, is _stupid_ and _cruel_. Your second plan, only telling _me_ , is flawed. Have you taken leave of your senses?"

Chest heaving in anger – _she could barely contain her fury inside –_ she could see from the corner of her eye that Severus was staring at her with a mix of surprise and fascination. Giving the thin, frail frame of Dumbledore another good poke, her finger burning a small hole in his robe, she continued: "And not to damage Malfoy's soul, what about Severus' soul? What about how _he_ will feel? What about everyone believing him to be _your_ killer? Reviling him, hating him, hunting him, leaving him in no other company than Death Eaters and me?! If no one knows, how can he continue to serve the Order? They will all kill him on sight, you crazy fool!"

Dumbledore tried to get a word in, but she wouldn't have it. _Oh no, she wouldn't let him!_ Her hair crackled, sending off fizzing sparks of red into the room.

Taking a step back, she shook her head sternly, cutting him off, Silencing him with a wave of her wand. _Those blue eyes weren't twinkling now, they were bulging in shock_ , she thought with a malicious joy, before she continued:

"This strategy is _not_ sound. Have you even thought this through in all its consequences? And what about me? If they believe I am in the clutches of _your_ killer, believing that Severus had turned on them, the Order will spend a lot of time and energy on trying to save me, to rescue me. Those efforts would take time and resources away from defeating Voldemort, which it what we _should_ be doing, not chasing after Severus and me. Don't think for a moment that Harry wouldn't try to save me, to the detriment of the world!"

The silence in the room was deafening, and Dumbledore was blinking. She released the spell keeping him still, and slowly, he cleared his throat.

"Severus will in all likelihood become Headmaster of Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "and I must say, putting you into the equation muddled up my plans. Severus has his job to do, and no one would be the wiser, but with you…" he gave off a reluctant sigh, "…I suppose you are right. They would try to save you. But it's vital that this is a _secret_ , Madam Snape. The point is, I am going to die either way. Severus will merely save me from a humiliating, painful end, and by that, Malfoy will not be killed by Tom for his shortcomings."

She shook her head stubbornly. "No. If Severus' is going to be Headmaster after your death, however it comes to pass, then I presume you believe You-Know-Who will be in power."

Severus interrupted her: "Don't forget the Unbreakable Bind. If I do not help Draco, then I'll die."

She sucked in her breath, feeling tears of frustration threatening to spill.

"It may be so," she acknowledged, "but the fact remains that this sacrifice on your part will be useless if _no one_ but me knows."

Fixing Dumbledore with her most bossy glare, she said: "This is how it's going to be, Headmaster, and I will brook no questions to it. We will tell McGonagall. She can keep her distance to Severus, but no one will think it strange if she talks to _me_ while I'm here at Hogwarts. I can relay information between Severus and McGonagall, and she can stall the Order in any rescue attempts, saying that I'm spying on Severus and that I am in no danger."

"It's workable," Severus said, his mouth twitching, and his eyes shining with something that she thought could be pride. It made something warm and _nice_ bubble up in her chest, replacing the terrible anger inside.

Dumbledore said curtly, giving Hermione an irritated, but calculating glance: "I suppose so. But no one else!"

Xxxx

Back in their own quarters, Severus said, sounding a little amused: "You have no objections to be the wife of the Death Eater Headmaster?"

Shrugging, she replied: "I will not be the wife of the Death Eater Headmaster. I'll be _your_ wife, and we'll both be playing a role."

He made an involuntary movement, stretching his hand out to her, and then his hand sank back, slowly. Turning half away from her, his face hidden behind his hair, he said: "Then again, you don't _want_ to be my wife either."

She cocked her head, trying to judge his mood. It was difficult, at the best of times, but she was getting better at it. _Did he act this way because he wanted her to care for him? Was this feigned distance some kind of self-protection?_

Taking a step towards him, she reached out her own hand, putting it lightly on his arm. "Oh," she said with a smile in her voice, trying to let the curious warmth inside her chest shine through in her voice, "I've gotten used to you. I wouldn't be trading you away at this point."

He looked at her, that eyebrow climbing again to his usual, satiric expression: "You wouldn't? I suppose I should declare this as marital bliss then, not having my wife planning to trade me away."

"Yes," she said with a smile, "I suppose so. After considering pros and cons, your wife has decided that there are more pros staying with you than cons."

A faint blush in her husband's sallow cheeks told her that he was moved by this, and she felt satisfied by her success: It had worked, telling him she _liked_ him in a roundabout, very Slytherin way, if she had to say so herself.

Clearing his throat roughly, he said in that deep, seductive voice which, at some point, she didn't know _when,_ had started to give her goosebumps: "I was impressed by the way you handled Albus. I don't think anyone has berated him quite like that in scores of years. And the way you …" he faltered a little, before picking up again, "you _stood up_ for me… I'm thankful. You have taken a burden off my back, really. This will make life easier for me, even with the fact that I'm going to be known as Dumbledore's killer and proclaimed as the Dark Lord's staunchest follower."

She leaned her head into his broad chest, saying in a voice muffled by his robes: "I know. I couldn't let him go through with such abject cruelty. We were married to ensure you could protect me, and you do, but it also means that I must protect you too when necessary. And I want to, too."

Lifting her face to him, she said slowly, out loud for the first time: "Because I _care_ for you, Severus."

Xxxx

 _AN: Is it too fluffy? In a way, it is, for this story, at least. The awkwardness between our two protagonists is fading away... Please tell me what you think!_


	10. Lieutenant of the Dark

**A/N** : _It's been a long time! I had to finish my Tomione story "Tom, just Tom," (because Lord Voldemort was simply demanding too much of my attention, lol!) but finally I've returned to Awkward. Sorry about the very long wait!_

 _Warning: Contains non-con and is somewhat dark._

 _Strike that, this chapter IS dark._

* * *

 **Lieutenant of the Dark**

* * *

She woke up with a gasp, sitting up in bed, disturbing his sleep. "Gods, did I just tell off Dumbledore?"

He chuckled, feeling as if a low, slow sound of pleasure wound its way from his chest and out of his mouth. Rubbing her back, enjoying the silky skin under his calloused hand, he said: "You did, love, you did. It's going to be one of my fondest memories." Immediately, he stiffened. _Love? Whenever had she gotten that nickname in his head, and why the fuck did he slip up like that, saying it out loud?_

She stiffened too, before laying down again, bushy curls resting on his chest, and said faintly: "I can't believe I Silenced Dumbledore. I mean, Dumbledore!"

"Neither can he," he said. _If she could pretend she hadn't heard it, then he damn well could pretend he hadn't said it. It wasn't as if he loved her, it was just something that suddenly had become … appropriate … to call her. A pet name, fit for a wife_.

Stretching a little, he felt the muscles in his back ache. After her declaration of caring for him, something he found quite unbelievable, he had been speechless, shocked, but oddly moved. _When was the last time someone had cared for him? His mother, before she died? Lily, maybe, for a few years, before everything went pear-shaped?_

To hide his surprise and discomfort – _he was not prone to talking about feelings_ – he had kissed her. She had responded, eagerly, and they had ended in a sweaty tangle on the bed, him crouching over her back, his arms encasing hers, as he thrust hard into her. Her moaning his name was both the sexiest and sweetest thing he had ever heard. Knowing that she wanted to be with him, not only that she had come to enjoy their sex life, was a heady thrill. He had been vocal, telling her how he relished the way her cunt gripped his cock, squeezing him into her tight, wet heat, adding a few liberal slaps to her pretty arse, making her squeal, and when he came, he had roared out her name. Afterwards, he had fingered her to orgasm, stroking her silky, wet folds with his thumb, as he thrust into her with two fingers, seeing his seed seep out of her pussy. Her sweet cries of ecstasy as she bucked into his hand drew a lazy twitch out of his cock, and they had fallen asleep into each other's arms.

Now, his back was telling him he had stayed too long in an uncomfortable position, and he winced. _An obvious sign of old age, wasn't it? She deserved to care for a young man, who didn't get twinges in his back from fucking her vigorously._

Scrutinizing his actions, he rather thought his own response to her declaration was cringeworthy. Attacking her like a lecher, like she was just a body to him, to be of service in his bed. He hadn't reciprocated, he hadn't told her he cared yesterday, but now, all of a sudden, he had slipped up, calling her 'love'. Embarrassment burned through him. She had only said 'cared'. _What if she thought he went over the top by calling her love? As a general rule, Severus Snape did not admit to tender feelings. Still, it wasn't right to let her believe he only cared about fucking her._ Blinking slowly, he tried to let his confusion sink beneath his Occlumency shields.

Xxxx

He hissed in pain, as the Summons tore through his body. The Summon was insistent, painful, signalling that the Dark Lord was impatient, or perhaps eager. At least, it would be something important. Grabbing his cloak and mask, he nodded to his little wife. As he closed the door to their chambers, the sight of her curled up in a chair in front of the fireplace, hair mussed and unruly, luscious body covered by a blanket, her pretty face scrunched up in a worried frown, her book forgotten in her lap as she stared after him.

Well outside the gates, he Apparated, following the pointer spell inlaid in the Dark Mark. As he got his bearings, he groaned silently. _A Muggle village. It was to be a night to up his body count, then. Again_.

The Dark Lord stood on the outskirts, grinning widely, digging his toes into the soft earth, his robes lifting dramatically in the faint breeze.

"Severus, my friend," he said, eyes sparkling with a kind of excitement that promised nothing good for the Muggles.

Looking around, he saw a notable lack of other Death Eaters. Feeling uneasy, Severus asked: "My Lord, where are the others?"

The man came closer, clasping his shoulder in a hard, unyielding grip. "Only the two of us, Severus, tonight. Between me and you, my lieutenant, there's no need for anyone else to take care of this village. I mean for us to test your potion, your gift to my birthday, just to see how it works."

Severus swallowed. _No mercy, then. Everyone in this village would be dead by morning._

Xxxx

Coming home in the early hours, he had never felt this dirty on the inside. This time, there was no smoke, no fires, no blood, but plenty of anguished screams as the poison took hold, as he and the Dark Lord had force-fed the entire village with it, precious drops dissolved in barrels of water.

 _Dead sheep. Dead men. Dead women. Dead children_. Severus shuddered, scrubbing himself in the shower until his skin was scraped red and chafed raw, like the water could wash away his sins. Everyone dead, quickly but painfully so, because of his creation. _He had known, the Dark Lord would put the poison to use. Still…_

He punched the shower wall, feeling a helpless rage towards himself, to Voldemort, to Albus fucking Dumbledore for putting him through this… _What kind of man was he? How could someone like him raise a child, love a wife, protect his family? He couldn't even protect himself from killing close to fifty people tonight, sending his body count to a staggering ninety-six_.

Xxxx

"Ready? He sent his glowering wife an apprehensive glance, trying to gauge her mood.

"Never," she said part morosely, part angrily, and he winced, feeling a desperate worry. _In fact, he had felt decidedly off since he had killed those people in the village. The unclean feeling of powerlessness just wouldn't go away, hanging over his head like a thundercloud._

 _"_ I know, Hermione. I promise, I'll get you out of there as soon as I can. Still, you will see some sights you've never wanted, love. I'm sorry, I can't protect you from this."

He felt heartbroken, sad and angry, as he took his wife's arm to Apparate her to her first revel.

Voldemort had decided to celebrate Beltane with a grand revel, and Severus had the sneaking suspicion that people would be thrown into the bonfire at midnight to culminate the "celebration." He swore to himself, he'd get her home before that happened, no matter what. _Even if it would blow his cover. She shouldn't have to see that. No one should_.

Thinking back, he wondered if he could have done anything to avoid this situation, but short of disobeying a direct order, he had no alternatives.

After the last meeting with the Dark Lord, he had gone straight for the Firewhisky. His clever, little wife had immediately understood that something was up, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. So, he had told her:

"The Dark Lord has commanded me to bring you to his Great Revel at Beltane. He says, and I quote: 'you will not be harmed, and he has something to show you', but I couldn't wriggle out of this. I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Predictably, she had been furious and scared, asking if this meant he was going to go through with the threat of a threesome, if he had plans for killing herself or Severus, if he was going to invade her mind to find everything about Harry, if…

In the end, he had barked, feeling despairingly powerless and sad: "Enough with the damned questions! I don't know. It could be anything or nothing, or maybe he just wants you to look at the revel."

At that, she had retreated sullenly, silently into herself, and it had been so since that night. And he hadn't been up to coaxing her out of it. _Maybe the indiscriminate killing of fifty people in one night had finally done away with his soul, the wrongness of it clinging to everything he did_.

 **CRACK!**

And like that, they were there, in a flowering, sweet-smelling field, with a great pile of wood for a bonfire in the middle, waiting to be lit underneath the starry skies. It looked deceptively peaceful at first glance, just like any other village celebration. But it was not. _It's a pyre_ , Severus thought, staring darkly at the pile of wood, shuddering slightly in the evening chill. His wife looked straight forward, her hand clutching his arm, the tension thrumming through her almost palpable.

Death Eaters were milling all around the field, shouting, laughing uproariously, talking, drinking, and some had even started shagging on the outskirts. From the far side of the field, the anguished screams, the slap of skin against skin and the grunts of the first rape of the evening drifted over. Close to the bonfire, the Dark Lord stood, black robe swirling around him, feet bare in the dirt, talking animatedly with Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, on the other hand, had a fixed smile on his face, but his eyes shone with fear and anger. The man positively radiated hurt pride and humiliation. Feeling curious, Severus steered them over to do the honours, and he and his little wife sank to their knees, the cold ground pressing into their legs, doing nothing to ease the chills that ran over his body.

"My Lord," Severus said, hearing an echoing whisper from his wife.

"Ah, there you are! My lieutenant and his lovely witch." The glance of his cold, red eyes slithered over them, making Severus' skin crawl. _He could only imagine how his poor witch felt._

"I have a gift for you, Madam Snape," the man leered hideously. "Lucius here, has kindly gifted you the opportunity to practise the Cruciatus on him. It's befitting that the wife of my right hand man is instructed how to make men cower. I will personally instruct you."

Severus almost gaped at his master. _Fuck, this was unexpected. It was a honour indeed, though a very dubious one by anyone else's standard than the Death Eaters, as the Dark Lord would only instruct those he deemed had an unusual potential. This would elevate Hermione's status among the Death Eaters almost to the heights of the Inner Circle. Now, she was virtually untouchable - aside from the usual Death Eater power plays_.

Feeling his wife freeze by his side, he nudged her slightly, and she choked out: "I'm honoured, my Lord, I truly am."

"Rise, Severus - Hermione." The yellow, uneven teeth of the monster in front of them showed as the man grinned viciously, turning to Lucius. Severus couldn't help feeling sorry for his friend. No wonder Lucius had seemed angry and humiliated. Being the punching ball for a beginner's Cruciatus was not a laughing matter, though Severus was sure, Hermione would master the curse quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione stand with a determined look on her face, and she said coolly: "I'm ready, my Lord."

"Good," the man purred. "I presume you know the incantation and the theory?"

"Yes," his wife rattled off, textbook perfect: "The incantation is 'Crucio', and the caster should focus all their anger into the casting, having a strong intent of hurting the victim."

"Good," the monster crooned again, stepping around them, standing behind his wife, pressing his body into her as he lifted her wand arm. Hermione hid her small shudder of revulsion, and Lucius fidgeted in front of her.

"Come, young Draco, you will benefit from watching this," the Dark Lord said, beckoning a cloaked figure closer. The hood was lowered, and the thin, tall form of Draco Malfoy stood before them, looking pale and drawn.

Severus swallowed. _This would be harsh. Seeing your father tortured by your school mate. And Draco, to his credit, had tried so hard to be friendly towards Hermione. This might ruin it. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the boy_.

The Dark Lord ground his hips into Hermione's back, making the girl stiffen, and Severus felt a hot surge of anger and fear. _He knew, the Dark Lord was easily turned on by torture. This … was bad. Real bad._

The man murmured into Hermione's ear, bending over her: "You must focus your anger. Don't release it yet, stoke it. Think of every slight, every harm this man has caused you and your friends over the years. Think of little Ginny Weasley, almost killed by my diary, given to her by this man. Think of the House-elves, how they suffer in his home. Think about how the Malfoy's almost killed that Hippogriff by their false accusations, think about ever derogatory remark they have given you because of your birth…"

Severus breath hitched. _How did the Dark Lord know his wife so well? This … would trigger her outrage, her anger, making the Cruciatus work for her. He had to be in her mind, or he had found out all this during New Years Eve. Anyway, it meant her Occlumency shields weren't as good as Severus had thought. This was an incredibly dangerous situation. Maybe, just maybe, the Dark Lord would be distracted enough by her performance, not probing further into her mind, digging up dangerous things_.

"I'm ready," his wife said, voice unwavering, eyes fixed on Lucius. Malfoy stood straight and proud, like he was standing there for his leisure, and not because he was about to be tortured for his Lord's amusement. A flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him.

"Lovely, now, gather your anger, pour it all into those word, make him hurt like he has hurt those you care for," Voldemort whispered sibilantly, and Severus heart went out to his wife. _His poor wife, his witch, forced into this marriage with a Death Eater, forced to endure the attention of the Dark Lord because of him… his darling, his little wife, his love…_

Drawing in a surprised gasp, Severus realized: _He did love her_. _He wanted to protect her and his child, he wanted her, but above all: He actually, really loved her. For all her bravery, intelligence, her willingness to sacrifice everything to protect her friends and those she cared for, for herself, her swottiness, her insecurities, her flaring temper, even that small streak of viciousness inherent in her character. For the fact that she even cared about him, unworthy, sad bastard that he was. He loved her for just everything that made up his lovely, little wife_.

Stunned by this revelation, he almost missed her whispered "Crucio", but there was no way he'd miss the fat, red streak of lightning tearing out of her wand, connecting to Lucius, making the man scream helplessly, bending his back backward in and effort to avoid the pain, though it lasted only seconds.

"Very nice!" the Dark Lord crowed, correcting her stance slightly, hips thrusting lightly at her back. "And again!"

The process took almost twenty minutes, with a curious circle of onlookers standing around them, cheering, as Hermione's curse slowly grew stronger with the whispered instructions from the monster at her back, and she was able to hold the curse longer. Voldemort's red eyes seemed to smoulder like dying embers, and he was breathing heavily by the time he declared that Hermione Snape mastered the Cruciatus curse. By that time, Lucius was a crumpled, snivelling heap, the ground slick with his blood from where he had scratched and bit himself bloody, and Draco had vomited, stumbling off to another part of the field. His wife was looking nauseous, but her cheeks were glowing red. _Poor girl, no one had told her that the Cruciatus felt good for the caster, Severus thought, she must be horrified by her own reactions, what with Voldemort rutting against her back…_

Breathless, the Dark Lord moved away from his wife, and she stumbled forward, leaning into Severus' arms. He could feel her heartbeat, strong and fast, thudding in her chest, and she hid her face against him, clutching him like she would never let go. He stroked her back soothingly, closing his eyes, like he needed to shut out the pain. _He would have to get her out of here, now, quickly, before_ …

"Can I service you, my Lord?" Bella's voice came from the side, and he opened his eyes, seeing the woman standing in front of Voldemort with a hopeful expression. There was clearly something wrong with her, because she was oddly Glamoured, her body almost distorted by her spell.

The Dark Lord looked her up and down, sneered, and said cruelly: "Not now, you horny slut. You will have to wait until you have finished your task." Turning away from her, he bellowed: "Bring me Narcissa!"

 _Ouch_ , Severus thought, _that had to hurt, being snubbed like that for her own sister. And Narcissa, being forced in front of her tortured husband, maybe even suffering the pain of their Fidelity bond broken… The Black sisters were obviously out of favour, tonight._

"On your knees," the Dark Lord gleefully said, as Narcissa hurried forward, gasping at the sight of Lucius writhing on the ground. Then the baleful, red glare was directed at Severus: "And, to keep up my mood, I'll see you fuck your pretty little wife while Narcissa sucks my cock. Strip her. She deserves a reward."

Severus sucked in a breath, and he felt Hermione stiffen in his arms. Desperately, he realized there would be no way out of this situation. Calmly, he replied: "Of course, my Lord," before spinning around in circle, scowling at his brothers and sisters standing in the circle around them: "Trust me, anyone else even thinking about touching her will be a walking corpse, heading straight for the bonfire! She's mine, no one else is touching her."

Voldemort chuckled, and said lazily: "Such a possessive display, Severus! Come now, no one's touching your pretty little toy tonight. We'll just watch."

Severus swallowed. Beforehand, she had asked if this could happen, and he hadn't been able to outrule the possibility, even offering her a lust potion to allay her fears. She had vehemently refused, pointing out that a lust potion would just make it inevitable. Hermione had been right, of course, but now, holding a shivering, scared and disgusted witch in his arms, standing on the cusp of taking his wife against her will in front of a crowd of jeering Death Eaters, he damned well wished she had taken the potion. _This would be rape. He merely hoped she would be able to forgive him. Again._

Clamping his Occlumency shields down hard, he Divested them both of their clothing, and the predictable hoots and whistles arose from the crowd. He noted, more people had joined the circle, and give or take, it was about fifty people watching them, many touching each other as they watched.

Looking down in Hermione's eyes, he saw her big, brown eyes wide open with a look of panic, and her breath came fast, betraying her frightened state. The Death Eaters watching would be delighted.

He leaned down, hands caressing her arms, before moving one to fondle a breast and the other to rub the small of her back, cupping her arse. Wandlessly and wordlessly, he sent the "Lubricatem" spell into her body, making her wet for him, as one hand slid between her legs to touch her slit. She jerked away, only his hand at her back kept her from stepping back.

"Wife is scared of your attentions, Severus? Good job! Keep that little slut on her toes!" a voice shouted, and he recognized it as Dolohov. _Merlin, her blatant unwillingness would keep them excited and interested, fueling their proclivity for inflicting pain and suffering. It would be better if she had played wanton and aroused, but how was she to know that - or was she even able to play along in her frightened state? Unless... Should he_?

As he stroked her slit, one finger probing her opening, feeling her flinch and grasp his forearms in a death grip, Severus debated with himself. _This was already horrible for her, being forcibly taken by her husband in front of a crowd delighting in her suffering. He could help her, making the experience less painful for the moment, but still, for all purposes, it would be a rape. Still, he decided, his heart heavy, it was the better option._

Gathering his magic, he Cursed his wife by whispering into her ear: "Imperio."

Her body relaxed instantly, her eyes becoming more vacant, and he whispered once again into her ear: "You are aroused, and your greatest wish is for me to fuck you in front of these people. Be as wanton as you can."

A strangled moan pressed out of her lips, and she closed her eyes, whimpering in pleasure as his fingers entered her quim, now drenched in her own fluids caused by the spell-induced arousal.

"Oh please, Severus, more," she groaned, and he felt his cock stir, his erection growing, as he eased another finger into her tight cunt. On the inside, he knew he should feel like retching if not for his Occlumency shields. _To be such a bastard as to be turned on and to be able to perform in such a situation - well, he was a monster too, just like the spectators._ But deep behind the shields, he coldly calculated that the two of them staying alive was more important than her unwillingness and his disgust. This was something he had to do, like he had done in the past, and there was no need to draw out the time. _Just get on with it, Severus._

Flipping her around, he bent her over, harshly pushing her back down with his hands, and gripped her hips hard, lining up his cock. She squealed as she felt the head touching her slit, and he entered her with a hard thrust, closing his eyes as he was enveloped by her tight, wet heat.

"Oh, yes, Severus! It feels so good, fuck me with your big cock," she moaned, as he roughly pushed into her, pulling out, pushing in, their bodies loudly smacking against each other. In the background, the Death Eaters cheered, and the red, glittering eyes of their Lord watched them rapturously, while the blonde head of Narcissa Malfoy bobbed on Voldemort's cock. The poor woman whimpered and twitched with pain, having her Fidelity Vow to Lucius abused.

He knew, it usually took more time for him to reach his release while behind his Occlumency Shields, but the effect of Hermione's forced arousal was surprisingly effective, he noted with detachment. She mumbled incoherently: "Yes, that's it, husband, fuck me so hard, fill my hole, give me all you've got…" He stroked her arse, feeling the soft skin under his grip, and then he swung his right hand, slapping her hard, leaving a red handprint on her white cheek on the right side of her arse, making her grunt, and the Death Eaters cheered wildly as he repeated the action.

As her moans turned into unintelligible sighs and whimpers, her cunt twitching and shivering around his cock, her hips gyrating as she tried to get more friction, thrusting back at him, he felt more blood rush to his cock, hardening it further, and the tendrils of bliss grew as his hips slapped into her sweet arse. Feeling his balls tingle and his cock throb, he pumped faster into her tight sheath, and then she screamed his name, a drawn out wail of "Severuuuus!", shuddering and coming around him, making his cock erupt into bliss, sending his seed in great spurts into her, and he groaned, leaning heavily on her hips, thrusting through his climax.

Straightening himself, feeling his come trail out of her as he pulled out, he said hoarsely to the Dark Lord, ignoring the cat calls of his brothers: "Master, I hope you'll excuse us for the rest of the evening. My wife is … excitable, but tires easily in her condition."

Voldemort waved at him benevolently, and said with a satisfied smirk, as poor Narcissa was on her knees, masquerading her retching as coughs beside her Lord's limp and wet cock: "Please do, Severus. This was a good show, and I wish you a … pleasant … night."

Xxxx

He didn't dare to let up the Imperius Curse until they were safe in his quarters again at Hogwarts. Steeling himself, he let the spell go, and barely caught her as she pitched forward, her breath turning into hoarse sobs. _Gods, he was a monster, for cursing his wife, his love, and getting it up and performing in such a situation at all_. He very well knew how the Imperius Curse felt, like you were riding in the back of your mind, staring horrified at your own actions. _She must be devastated._

"I'm sorry, love, I'm sorry. I thought the Imperius would be easier on you," he mumbled, "the best option for something neither you nor I wanted to happen. I never wanted to do this to you, love."

She cried freely for a while, hiccuping into his chest, her whole body shaking. Slowly, he stroked her arms, whispering: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." As she continued crying, his mind spiraled around the thought: _No wonder she cries, coming home after a traumatic experience, the only comfort she can get, is from her rapist._

The room was chilly, and he flicked a spell to light the fireplace, trying to not think about what or who Voldemort was burning in that accursed field. The fire roared to life quickly, spreading warmth into the room, the flames dancing merrily in the grate, casting odd shadows on the wall, giving off the pleasant smell of woodsmoke. The cosyness of the fire jarred horribly with the mess he felt inside.

After a while, he led her to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, and she curled up, clutching her hands around her knees, hiding her face, body still shaking from her sobs. He stoked the fire, and busied himself with making her tea, dreading what she would say when she was done bawling, not knowing what he should say or do. _Because nothing would make it better_.

"Here," he said, as gently as he could manage, handing her a cuppa. The fragrance was strong, feeling like a balm on his frayed nerves, spicy and clean. He required only the best tea leaves for his private selection, and as usual, the House-elves were up to the task.

She sniffled a "thanks," gratefully reaching for the cup, but flinching as their hands touched.

His heart sank. _Oh, gods, what if this had ruined everything? If she would shy away from him, avoiding his touch? And the damned Marriage Law would demand their intimacy_. Severus felt a mounting despair. _He couldn't go back to how it had been in the beginning between them, he just couldn't. He loved the damned girl!_

She drank her tea, inhaling the fragrance between each sip, her tears slowly subsiding as she stared pensively into the crackling fire. Reaching out her cup, she whispered: "More, please."

He brewed another cup, and this time, she didn't flinch from the touch of his hand. Feeling a small relief, he sat down beside her in the other chair, just waiting for her to talk. She looked so small, so innocent, not filling out the seat of his trusty, old leather chair.

Hesitantly, she said: "I don't blame you. I blame him. I know you didn't want to. But at the same time, I can't help feeling like something good and pure has been violated, by him and them watching. Something important that was ours, and now it became just like a cheap peep show for their amusement."

He sighed. "I know, love, and I should never have brought you. I … regret this. I am deeply sorry, Hermione."

Turning to him, she said with a serious look: "You had no choice..."

Impatiently, he interrupted her: "I could have told him you were ill. He would have been angry, but it would have been better. I can stand the pain."

Her eyes widened. "Would he have tortured you?"

Snorting, he said: "Most likely. He usually don't, " he added quickly, seeing her horrified expression. "Being Inner Circle is a protection."

Narrowing her eyes, she said slowly: "It didn't help Lucius Malfoy."

He gave her a wry smile. "Astute as ever. No, that was for your benefit, I believe, as he obviously knew about your dislike for Lucius. About that, was he in your head, tonight? He seemed to know just how to trigger your anger."

"No, I think he got all that from New Year's Eve." She stared down into the floor, looking ashamed.

A strong wave of protective feelings rose up, followed closely by his anguish for bringing her into this situation. She had nothing to be ashamed for, the Dark Lord was an expert in discovering what made people tick. She had no fault in this, but he had, being who he was and the company he kept.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out again. "For you being forced to cast an Unforgivable, for raping you, for subjecting you to this pain and humiliation. Hermione, I'm sorry for being me."

"Stop it," she said abruptly. "Stop with the self-loathing. I feel like shit, yes, but it isn't your fault. If not for you, for our marriage, I might have been dead now. Stop punishing yourself. I am an adult too, I know the risks."

He gaped at her, and then she gave a small laugh. "Oh, Severus, that's an expression I never thought to see on your face. Complete and utter shock, on the face of the most stoic man ever to grace the earth."

Shaking his head, he tried for his usual scowl, but ended up with a sheepish smile of his own. "Am I forgiven, then?" he said softly, not being able to comprehend her words.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you big oaf, I told you, didn't I? You might be the perpetrator of that action, that … public penetration, but you had no choice, as I hadn't. I can't promise you that I'll be totally unaffected by it, but I want to work it through. With you."

It felt like a dam broke inside him, like all those feelings of shame, self-recrimination and despair flooded out of him, and he couldn't help it, he grabbed her hand, and said brokenly: "I don't deserve you, Hermione."

Xxxx

He was pacing his classroom, and the students were supposed to read and write their essays. Though, of course, the little idiots did anything but.

Moving about silently, he stopped behind his wife's best friends. Herself, she was sitting at the front, writing her essay the model student she was. He was relieved Dumbledore was the one to mark it, as it would probably be five feet long, filled with her tiny writing and her impeccable, but convoluted arguments, the text regurgitating references rather than actually utilizing them. _Though, it was amusing. Dumbledore actually marked her essay differently after their … altercation._

"So, I'm thinking about asking Lavender," Weasley whispered, a sheepish grin on his face.

"What?" Potter whispered with a disgusted look, "Lav-Lav? I don't think I can endure that."

"Fuck, Harry! It's not like I can go about asking anyone," Ron snarled, eyes looking hurt.

"Still, Lav-Lav?", Potter sneered.

"Yeah, her!", Weasley said angrily. "It's not like we can pick and choose, look at what happened to Hermione!"

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. _She had seemed to accept him, even after the horrors of Beltane. What had she told her friends? Did she lie to him? Was she still unhappy in their marriage_?

Potter rolled his eyes, saying: "You can't expect to be that unlucky. She's easily the most unlucky witch in Britain, and it's a fucking miracle that she hasn't made a run for it."

Weasley shook his head, opening his mouth about to say something, but Severus sucked in an angry breath, not about to let the two cretins chatter in his classroom.

"Potter, Weasley," he drawled, finding no small measure of enjoyment in how the boys cringed by hearing his voice. "As fascinating as you engagements plans are, Weasley, you should focus on improving your understanding of the Reducto."

A snigger broke out in class, and some of his Slytherins boys wolf-whistled, while Pansy and Millicent began a low chant: "Lav-Lav, Lav-Lav, Lav-Lav!"

Weasley blushed horribly, giving him an angry glare, while the stupid Brown girl squealed: "Won-Won!"

"Silence!" he thundered, and suddenly, the class room was so quiet, one could have heard the drop of a needle. Giving his Slytherins a smirk, he continued:"As far as I can see of your scribblings, it's beyond terrible. And you, Potter, though you may think yourself far above such knowledge, I can tell you that any self-respecting Dark Wizard would have made sure to master the ordinary curriculum before moving on to more … difficult forms of magic. You might want to reconsider your lack of attention in class, Potter."

Yes, sir," the boys said, their ire simmering in their eyes, but they obeyed: bowing their heads to their text in silence. His Slytherins were shaking in silent laughter, and he shared a cocky, triumphant look with Draco. Suddenly, he realized, this was the first time he had seen the boy smile since the horrors of Beltane. He knew Lucius har recovered, but Narcissa, poor woman, was a wreck. His mood sank, and he turned abruptly, robes swirling around him as he paced to the front of the class room.

His wife lifted her head to look at him, giving him a admonishing glance and a disapproving shake. He glared at her, still riled up by the thought that their marriage was an act from her part. _Because why would she care for him, really? He had abused her, put her at risk by bringing her before the most evil wizard of all times, and yes, he was a surly git, the most hated professor at school. Had she acquiesced just because she was pregnant with his child_?

Grumbling to himself, he stalked his classroom, making the students nervous and upset, finding a small satisfaction in seeing quivering lips and pale faces, though nothing could quench the storm inside.

Xxxx

In the evening, she was busy doing her homework as he entered, quill scratching over the parchment, and the fireplace was burning merrily, making the room nice and warm again. _Nice, nothing in his life had been nice before she entered his life. And maybe it wasn't true, just a sham_. His initial anger had abated, and all he felt was a profound sadness. During the day, while lecturing all his classes and taking the meals, his disappointment had grown, as well as his feeling of being utterly useless. _Nothing was real, nothing was true, was it_?

After dinner, he had gone straight to his laboratory for a brewing session. Nothing could empty his mind like preparing ingredients, tending the cauldron, stirring, bottling and cleaning his workspace.

In the end, he had decided he wouldn't confront her with anger. He had hurt her enough as it was. And the fact was, he cared for the girl. _A lot. Too much, as it was_.

"How was your day?" he said, aiming for polite, but he could hear the monotony in it.

"Fine," she said, stretching a little, before turning to him with a smile. "And you?"

"Like always," he said, swallowing the voice inside that whispered: Just like always. Your whole life is an act. Nothing is true. Trust no one.

Brows furrowing, she looked closely at him. Standing up, she walked up to him. "It's not," she said, looking concerned. "What's wrong?"

Blinking, he looked down at her, before his little wife wrapped her arms around his middle, and hugged him.

"Whatever it is, remember I care for you," she said quietly. "If there's anything you need from me, you just say so."

His throat constricted suddenly, and his mouth croaked out all of his ugly, sad, needy self-doubt in one sentence: "Do you really care?"

She chuckled a little, saying: "As a matter of fact, I do, unbelievable as it seems. The questions remains, though, do you?"

Her face lifted to him, eyes very serious, she was searching nervously for an answer in his expression. His heart made a giddy leap, and he suddenly felt clean, purified by the the look in her eyes, and that mouth of his, suddenly so uncontrollable, breathed out the answer: "Yes, entirely too much."

The happy shine in her eyes was enough for him, no one could fake a reaction like that. He felt like he could choose between kissing her or letting himself be overwhelmed by the surge of emotions. The choice was easy, and he claimed her mouth hungrily, devouring her.

Xxxx

Later, he was lying exhausted and sweaty in bed, his wife wrapped around him, her small hand playing with his chest hair. The room positively reeked of sex, and he almost chuckled with pleasure. _Not something he would have been willing to believe if someone told him four months ago. Or an hour ago_.

"What was this all about?" Your mood, I mean," she asked, voice lazy and sated with contentment.

Stalling, he tried to sidetrack her. "I understand we'll be going to an engagement party this spring."

"What? An engagement party? Is that why you were upset?" Her golden-brown eyes looked at him with confusion.

"No," he admitted, "I overheard your friend Mr. Weasley stating that he'd propose to Miss Brown. He's of age now, isn't he?"

She groaned, banging her head against his chest. "I know! She's so stupid, I can't see how he tolerates her."

Grinning a little maliciously, he quipped: "You don't have to tell me. I've taught her for six years, and I would have considered myself lucky if she hadn't scraped an O.W.L. in Defense."

"Yes, and now you're stuck with visiting her and Ron at weekends for the rest of your life."

At that, he barked a laugh. "I'd rather visit the Dark Lord!"

"Be nice," she scolded him. "In the future, it will be like this. Harry and Ron with spouses will visit us on Fridays. We'll go to Harry on Saturday, and to Ron on Sunday. And you, sir, will behave."

He hugged her into him, and said quietly: "Let's discuss that when it's relevant, or what? If everything turns out alright."

She became quiet for a moment, staring at him with dark, liquid eyes. "You still haven't told me why you were upset." Frowning at him, she said slowly: "Wait, is this about the rubbish Harry said in class? Did you think I didn't care…?"

The silence stretched, and after a long while, he said: "It wouldn't have been surprising if you did. I'm no prize for a young witch like you."

Burrowing her head into his chest, she mumbled: "Stupid man. You should trust me, not something Harry and Ron spout in class when they should be doing something else. After all, you don't believe anything else they says in class, so why this? You know they both are freaked out by our marriage."

"Mmmh," he said non-committedly. He stroked her hair for a while, before she sleepily asked: "Where will Ron and Lavender stay before school ends?"

He couldn't help sniggering, thinking of Albus' total incompetence and the moral outcry among the teachers. _Well, what's the harm? He could tell his wife, though she technically shouldn't know anything about the teachers' discussions._ She lifted her head, looking alert and curious.

"Well, you see," he began. "Changing the structure of rooms at Hogwarts takes some time, and so it must be done during the holidays. The first marriages started in the beginning of February, as most students waited as long as they could. In the meantime, Albus decided they would just have to sneak around in empty classrooms, to the moral outcry of several teachers. Though, when Filius suggested that the students could book a classroom for scheduled sex, Minerva almost had an apoplexy, shouting about Hogwarts likened to a brothel. It was a mess."

Her mouth a small O, she began to laugh helplessly. "Scheduling sex? Gods, I would have loved to see people try to swap slots because something had gotten in their way. The embarrassment, the mumblings, the oh-so-sheepish faces!"

He grinned at her. "I'll keep that in mind. If it amuses you, I'll support this motion at the next faculty meeting."

Her body still shaking with laughter, she said: "Please do."

Xxxx

"Whaaat!?" the old witch screeched, her face flushed with anger. Minerva McGonagall rose from her chair, much like Hermione had done, he thought with amusement, and pointed a bony finger in the direction of the Headmaster.

"You were going to let us all believe Severus was a traitor! You fucking, manipulative scunner, you stinking bawbag, Albus!"

He blinked at the colourful, Scottish swear words, and his little wife looked at her enraged Professor with fascination, no doubt committing them to memory to check up on the definition at some point later.

"No, really, Minerva," Albus said, looking hurt. "I only meant to…"

"Well, thank the gods for your scheme being disclosed, you bampot!" the witch shrieked, "now we can start some real planning, that isn't all about fantasies in your daft head!"

Suddenly brandishing her wand, she shot a Stinging Hex at Dumbledore, making his eyes widen as he flinched in pain, and then she said in a normal tone: "That felt good. It doesn't matter that you're well over a hundred, you deserved this. Poor Severus, you were going to make him friendless and the most hated man in wizarding Britain. I can't believe you'd be so short-sighted, Albus."

Beside him, he felt his wife shaking with a silent snicker, and he felt almost compelled to join her. McGonagall said the exact same thing to the Headmaster as Hermione had done. _That wouldn't work wonders for Albus' self-esteem_.

The brusque comment from the Headmaster reined them in, though: "Why are you laughing?"

He felt like roaring with laughter - _seeing Albus this unsettled was precious_ \- but his wife took control, saying bossily: "This is how it will be, Professors. Minerva will keep the Order abreast of things, I will relay whatever Severus has to tell, and we will work together as cells, though no one will know about Severus' alignment but us."

McGonagall nodded, sniffing haughtily: "That's sound. Much better than Albus' plan, I'd say."

He couldn't help cocking his eyebrow, peering at Albus, saying: "Of course. My wife is both practical and smart."

Hermione beamed at him, and he gave her a fond smile, knowing that his praise was fully deserved.

After a while, the entire conversation consisting mostly of his wife browbeating Albus, Minerva whispered: "You're amused by this, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have never seen anyone put Albus through his paces like this. She'll make a fine Minister of Magic one day, my wife."

At that exact moment, there was a lull in the conversation, and Hermione flushed. "Do you really think so?" she whispered at him, and he just had to affirm it, seeing Albus looking like a thundercloud.

His wife's shoulders straightened visibly, like she grew an inch in her chair, and she turned back to Albus with a vengeance, pressing her points.

He glanced at Minerva, who gave him an amused look, patting his back, before she leaned in, whispering: "This marriage seems to have worked out for the two of you, though I'd never believed that from the start. I mean, Severus, you just praised her. The next thing, you'll present her with flowers in the Great Hall."

Xxxx

Later, he told her he was proud of her for handling Albus and Minerva.

"Oh, Severus, I only did what you deserve," she said, her smile one of the sweetest things he had ever seen. Then her brow furrowed, and she sighed. "I just … It's going to be tough, anyway. I don't like to keep this a secret from Harry and Ron. I think they deserve to know."

He shrugged. "They already hate me. It's not going to make much of a difference, and it needs to be believable. And Albus is right about one thing, the less people in the know, the better. For our own safety."

I know," she said sadly. "Though I can still wish, can't I?"

Xxxx

Suddenly, it was time, and he stormed into their quarters, lifting her up and flying her out of the castle to the Apparition point. In the past, few weeks, they had prepared, stocking up Spinner's End to make it a safe hide-out for them both, and they both had kept the most important things on their person.

Outside, she kissed him fiercely, clutching him, before saying: "Good luck, love, I know you can do this. Remember, I believe in you."

The **CRACK** of her Apparition was unnaturally loud, and he stood staring at the space she had occupied for a few moments, before returning to the castle, heart heavy.

He was on a mission, to kill Albus Dumbledore. Retreating behind his Occlumency shields as far as he could go, he donned his Death Eater persona, pulling the hatred, derision and cruelty around him as a cloak. _It was just two evil words, and a brief flash. Two words, and a flash. He could do this. He had to_.

Xxxx

Back at Spinner's End, he sat down heavily in the sofa, clutching his head, trying to fight off the nagging traces of headache. _Two words and a flash, and he was the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard on the British Isles since Merlin. This … evil deed … would always cling to his name, after the war. No matter if he came out alive and the right side won, and no matter if he was cleared of all charges in the process. The fact remained: He had killed Dumbledore. And if they didn't win - well, he didn't want to contemplate that._

Hermione sat down beside him, curling into him, soothing with by stroking him slowly, not saying a word. He leaned into her, drawing warmth from her body, taking in the faint smell of jasmine from her shampoo.

But there was no comfort to be had, nothing that would change the fact that he had killed his friend and mentor, nothing that would cleanse his reputation from being the worst traitor to the Order of the Phoenix, nothing that would make anyone believe he wasn't Voldemort's most trusted man. _Severus was doomed._

Still, his hand came around her shoulder, pulling her close, and he realized: It could be worse. He could have been alone, without the trust and support of Hermione, and Minerva. _If not for his wife, this would be … unbearable._

She was silent for a long time, just holding him, and he was grateful. Grateful, _for her trust, for her caring, for her support. If not for her, he wasn't any longer sure if he could have gone through this hell, the importance of their cause notwithstanding._

Gruffly, he cleared his voice, making her look up at him expectantly. She fitted so well into his arms, her soft, luscious body, the swell of her stomach, big with his child, resting comfortably against his hip. Those beautiful, warm eyes staring into his. And it came out, more like an embarrassing low growl rather than the smooth cadence he had aimed for: "Hermione, I … love you."

* * *

 **A/N** : _I needed that, after all the darkness in this chapter. Some of you have said that Severus is so broken on the inside in this story, and I think that sums it up. He's been forced to atrocities for years, and he has a hard time coping. And believe me, I tried to convey that the noncon was very much two-sided: He doesn't want it either. I hope you could tell._

 _But maybe, there's some light ahead too, when he finally begins to believe that someone cares about him too. At this point, there's one more chapter to go in this story, though it's never been planned out from the start. The whole of Awkward just grew from a oneshot._

 _Shameless self-rec: I have another SS/HG going, a threeshot called Lion's Heart. For some strange reason, it doesn't show up if you use the filters. I have no idea as to why..._ _Please, check it out! :-)_


	11. Part 1, The Headmaster's Wife: Sidelined

**A/N:** _This story is all about awkwardness. This is the first part of the last chapter, and I wanted this to not be the traditional "Hermione go blazing in to save the world, together with her friends." Because really, there's no awkwardness in that - that's just plain heroism and glory._

 _Together, part one and two spans about two months, from the middle of October to New Years Eve. Part one is set in October - November, but with flashbacks. The second part will be up a few days later. I had t split it up because this chapter is a monster - almost 13 000 words (Gah! no wonder it took ages to write…)._

 _Thanks for being patient with me! I would love to hear what you think of this, and I promise, the last chapter will be up by the end of the weekend. It's almost finished._

* * *

 ** _Part one of The Headmaster's Wife: Sidelined_**

* * *

The students were filing into the Great Hall for dinner, heads down, everyone trying to avoid the attention of the dark, scowling menace standing tall at the Head table. No one was chattering, no one was smiling, and she knew, _no one dared_ , _this year_. Their steps clattered in the echoing silence of the Great Hall, and even the lovely smells wafting from the food couldn't bring any amount of comfort and happiness.

Her husband domineered the Hall, though all the old teachers were glaring daggers at him. She had to applaud Minerva's act, though _. If she hadn't known it was an act, she'd believed her to be furious._ The two new Death Eater teachers, the Carrows, grinned sycophantically at Severus, wanting to get into the good graces of Voldemort's most trusted man.

She stood beside him, the babe nestling in her arms, staring out at the sea of students, trying to look nearly as haughty as her husband, like she was proud to be the Death Eater Headmaster's wife. Pretending to be proud to be his _Mudblood_ wife, proud to belong to him, to obey him, to be his submissive little wife to the public eye.

The truth was, it wasn't that hard to fake. She was proud to be the wife of the bravest, most self-sacrificing man she knew. Now, Severus was facing the Dark Lord almost every day as his most trusted counsellor, subverting his commands right under his nose, while being praised and rewarded by that vile monster. All the while holding up, despite the strain on him. Hermione vowed for the umpteenth time: _She would bring Voldemort down for putting her husband, Harry and the world through this. They would bring him down, together. But how was she to accomplish that?_

Her thought were interrupted, as Little John started squalling in her arms. Sharing a quick look with Severus, he dismissed her haughtily with a nod, and she ducked her head like she was nervous and afraid, scurrying out of the Great Hall.

On her way out, she bumped into the train of Gryffindors, marching to their table as if they went to their doom. Meeting Ginny's angry glare was _always_ harsher than she had imagined, and Hermione almost winced by the hatred of her former friend's stare. _Her friend, believing she was the enemy, for staying with her husband. Her friend, believing her to have deserted Harry, throwing her lot in with Voldemort and her Death Eater husband._

Ginny didn't say a word, but it wasn't necessary: Her fierce stance, the way her whole body tensed as if she was a coiled spring, proved she'd do _anything_ to harm Hermione. _Maybe even little John_. Hermione felt shivers crawl down her spine, moving hurriedly forward.

A few steps behind Ginny, Neville looked at her with the sad, stricken look he always gave as he saw her baby. It felt like a cruel hook embedding itself into her heartstrings, dragging a sigh out of her.

"Hermione…" he whispered, his voice now a deep rumble of worry. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you? I'd do anything to help you, just say the word."

Giving him a small smile - _sweet, caring Neville, bravely outing himself as a rebel to help her, though all evidence in the world pointed to her being a traitor -_ she shook her head, nuzzling her chin into the fuzzy head of her infant. Neville's face fell, and she could tell, he thought she stayed with Severus to save her child. Opening his mouth slightly, he snapped it shut, instead giving her a reassuring pat on her shoulder as she walked by. His big, sorrowful eyes followed her as she moved on.

Hermione bit her lip, fighting back her tears. _This year was one long haul, and she couldn't understand how Severus could stand upright, being on the receiving end of all that hatred._ Sighing, she took mentally stock of her situation.

Xxxx

Their plan had worked out very well, in fact better than she had imagined. Harry and Ron had ensconced themselves safely in Grimmauld after the Ministry fell to Voldemort. As their established contact, Minerva had been able to supply them with news, food and knowledge - communication secured by Hermione's very own altered Protean Charm, though this time, it was in the form of a two-way diary, shared between the boys and Minerva. _The boys, though, thought Minerva was the only one who read their messages._

As for herself, she had concentrated on taking her NEWTS early, studying the whole summer until the Ministry fell. Out of necessity, Severus and herself had been cooped up inside the house at Spinner's End, staying out of sight, hunted like criminals, for conspiring with Voldemort and killing Dumbledore.

Severus had worked tirelessly to research the Horcruxes, together with Minerva. There had been several stints where he came home from meeting the Dark Lord, hollow-eyed and pale. No amount of cuddling or chocolate could make him smile, and sometimes, it had lasted for days, making the tiny house at Spinner's End gloomy and sad. She was aware he had a death count, but all she knew, it kept climbing higher and higher throughout summer. _Thank Merlin, his mood had improved when their son was born. It was,_ she mused, _like he had found something more to live for._

Her NEWTs done, she had to her great surprise passed with flying honours, as soon as it was safe for them to venture out. Both of them had to pretend to bask in the victory of the Dark Lord, and they had moved to Hogwarts when Severus was appointed Headmaster. She had given birth late in August, putting everything else on the sideline. Born healthy and strong, with a shock of black hair and a grumpy disposition, their baby boy had to suffer the Dark Lord as a Godfather.

It was the only time Voldemort had showed up at Hogwarts, and Hermione didn't really know if she should laugh or cry at the memory.

 _The visit had been announced half an hour in advance, and had resulted in a flurry of activities: Hiding maps, books, scrolls and the like from their Horcrux research away from the Headmaster's office. The Dark Lord had breezed in their window, not having a single touchdown on the Hogwarts grounds before he stood on the window sill, black cloak flapping ominously, his yellowish toes clinging to the crumbling mortar._

" _Good afternoon, Severus, Hermione," the man had said politely, like having the Dark Lord for tea, him entering through the window at the topmost turret, was a normal occurrence._

" _Please come in, my Lord," Severus said, gesturing to the room. As for herself, she had hovered nervously in the background, clasping the barely two days old infant closely to her chest._

 _Voldemort stepped gracefully down into the room, like he was a ballet dancer. Gazing around, he muttered: "So much the same, and yet so different."_

 _The portraits of the former Headmasters were all present, everyone staring stiffly at the Dark Lord. The man grinned evilly, and waved a hand: "Hello, Albus. How does it suit you, being dead?"_

 _The portrait of Dumbledore merely frowned at him._

" _Please, join us for tea," Severus said, and Voldemort took a seat._

 _Severus poured the tea, offering Voldemort milk and sugar. With a detached interest, Hermione noted that he took a splash of milk and two sugars, and she wondered how normal he seemed, doing these things, even helping himself to a lemon and ginger biscuit from the tray, the holes that should have been nostrils contracting and expanding as he inhaled the aroma of the tea._

" _Congratulations," the Dark Lord said, peering curiously at her child. "Allow me…"_

 _Before she or Severus could even voice a protest, the man had grabbed the baby, holding it securely in the hook of his arm. She had felt an acute sense of panic, not knowing what this monster was capable of, though oddly enough, it seemed like he knew how to cradle a child in his arms._

 _He whispered: "Revelis magicae," and a strong, blinding blue light shone from the brow and heart of their son._

" _Good," the Dark Lord crooned. "You'll be a strong boy, a powerful wizard to rival your father - and your mother."_

 _Blinking, heart still in her throat, she held out her arms, asking wordlessly to have her child back from the monster in their living room._

 _Nonchalantly, the Dark Lord delivered the baby back in her arms, patting the black curls on her boy's head with something that could be mistaken for good will._

" _Name?" he not so much asked, as ordered, and Severus played his part, yet again, perfectly. "We'd like to name him after you, my Lord, but se couldn't presume to use your name. We've decided to call him John…"_

" _You can use one of my names," the Dark Lord said graciously, nibbling on another biscuit. "Marvolo. John Marvolo."_

 _Her eyes almost goggling, she nodded, pretending to be awestruck. Severus was, of course, ever ready, and said glibly: "Such honour, my Lord, we aren't worthy…"_

" _Nonsense," the Dark Lord said. "You are my trusted lieutenant, and she… well, suffice to say, you deserve recognition. Your son will be allowed to use my middle name."_

Thus it had happened, her son had the dubious honoured to be named after her Muggle Dad and the Dark Lord. Earlier, Severus had vehemently denied using his father's name or any name from the Prince family. Now, they were in agreement that the name "Marvolo" would be history as soon as the Dark Lord was dead.

Xxxx

As she walked up to the Headmaster's quarters, she still felt a small twinge of soreness between her legs. Six weeks after the birth, she was still sure that not everything was quite alright - yet. The midwitch had said, she would be in due time, though.

Hermione shuddered, not wanting to think about the harrowing experience of the birth. The best she could say, was that she was happy her son was well and healthy.

 _They had come in much too late to the hospital, and surprisingly, it had been a breech birth. It had lasted 36 hours, and she had been so exhausted and in so much pain, with a severe loss of blood. She had thought she'd die, and from the looks of the mediwitch and midwitch, they were worried too. Poor Severus, he had completely panicked, yelling for them to help her._

 _And finally, she could hold her small, sweet little babe in her arms, though at that point, she hadn't enough strength to hold him, just letting the small, warm body rest on her chest, silent tears of relief and joy running down her face._

 _She was thankful though, for having a late birth. If this had happened before Voldemort's takeover in the Ministry, she might not have survived without the help of St. Mungo's. Before the fall of the Ministry, both of them had been considered wanted criminals, no being able to just waltz into St. Mungo's, even for a birth. As it was, the angry and disappointed looks the mediwitches and wizards had given them was awkward enough._

" _Are you sure we shouldn't help you to get away?" a young nurse had whispered to her. " I know people that'll help you, hide you and your baby."_

 _The earnest, worried look on the nurse's face had made her almost crushingly grateful, grateful for the fact that there were people in this world who were willing to risk themselves to help others, to thwart Voldemort. Her motions on a roller-coaster with the hormones of birth, she had cried freely, sniffling her reply: "No… thank you so much, I don't nee-heed it, I will stay with h-h-im, he's my hu-hu-husband…"_

 _The nurse had been sceptical, trying to convince her to escape, but in the end, Hermione had needed to spout Death Eater ideology to stave off her efforts: "I support my husband and his Master wholeheartedly. I have seen the error of my ways, and I will do anything in my power to make our Lord's vision a reality."_

 _The nurse had shuddered, looking at her with revulsion, her eyes growing cold, and Hermione had cried even more after the nurse had left the room: Crying for the deception they had to live, for disappointing this well-meaning witch, crying for her own, lost reputation._

It had been fantastic to return to Hogwarts, living safely in the Headmaster's quarters, with an army of House-elves standing ready to help her with little John. _She couldn't even feel it in her to be ashamed, as the House-elves clearly loved the baby beyond all reason._ They would help her with advice on nursing, asking her to change John, teaching her spells to rock the cradle and wizarding lullabies. Still, she was tired and sleep-deprived, preferring to take care of John herself, every, exhausting minute of it all.

Hobbling into their quarters, she sank down in the comfortable, green plush sofa with a groan. The fire crackled in the fireplace, the burning wood giving off a pleasant scent. The House-Elves, ever considerate, had already set a covered silver tray with today's dinner on the table for her, and the delicious smell of roast chicken filled the room. She sniffed hungrily, her mouth almost watering, but it would have to wait. Settling in with grey, soft pillows at the ready, she nursed herself and her son into dozing.

Xxxx

Sometime later, her husband arrived, pulling her out of her fog of sleep. Opening her eyes, she saw him stand still, staring at the two of them with a small smile around his lips, and his eyes told her, he was proud of his small family.

"Hello, love," he said softly, "let me take John, and then you can rest properly. But please, have some dinner at first. You need food too."

She almost felt guilty, seeing his own tired and drawn face, but she gave up the small, warm bundle to him, seeing her husband lift the baby with a tender, loving expression in his eyes.

 _Oh, her husband - he was infatuated with little John_. There was no other way to put it. Her tall menace of a husband, scaring people left and right, doling out harsher punishments than Hogwarts had seen in years while trying to keep the Carrows in check, was perfectly willing to soothe their baby, sing to him, rock him, nuzzle him and change his diapers, as long as it was behind the walls of their quarters. Outside, he played quite another role, and Hermione knew _, no one would believe her. Except Minerva._

Xxxx

Stretching after a few hours of sleep, woken by the soft cries of her infant mewling for milk, she tried to gather her fuzzy thoughts, as she pulled down her top to let her baby nurse again. Smiling down at the baby, relishing the small, suckling noises he made, the sweet smell of a newborn, she felt her eyes almost brim over with the all-encompassing love she felt for him. _Her baby. Severus' son. She'd do anything to keep him safe._

Still, it felt odd, not being in the centre of action anymore. She was safe, confined in her comfortable tower room, like there was a glass wall between her and the world, her only occupation being caring for her beloved babe.

Surrounded by thousands of books and scrolls, the circular tower rooms sometimes felt like a stone cage to keep her trapped. There was no one to talk to, excepting Severus and Minerva, the latter only in those clandestine, midnight meetings. Apart from them, there were only the House-elves to keep her company. Everyone she cared about, thought her a traitor of the worst sort.

Harry and Ron was out there, trying to win a war they were in no condition to understand fully by themselves, and her husband was every day relaying on his keen intelligence to survive in the harsh game among the Death Eaters, bringing precious nuggets of information back to her. Minerva - _she had, by this point long forgone addressing McGonagall as Professor_ \- told the boys everything they needed to know, giving them information, advice and resources.

For herself, she nursed, slept, read, ate, and there was precious little else going on in her life. All she did, was sitting around waiting for others to take action. Aside from taking care of John, she did nothing, and a nagging sense of unease, of being useless was growing on her.

Now, six weeks after the birth, she tried to participate in the research for Horcruxes as well, though she felt distracted, her thought processes slow and sluggish. Minerva, Severus and herself knew that they should be looking for something belonging to the founders, and she had pondered the question, turning it up and down into her head.

"Severus," she said softly, not to disturb the baby, "maybe we could ask the ghosts if they know anything?"

"The ghosts?" he said doubtfully. "I don't think the Fat Friar or Nearly Headless Nick know _anything_ at all. Maybe the Bloody Baron or the Grey Lady would have more information."

The faint, smoky smell rising from the glass of golden Firewhisky he was swilling in his hands left her almost gagging, like it was poisonous. Taking a deep breath, hiding her nose in her robe, she tried to calm her stomach. _During pregnancy, her sense of smell had become much too sensitive, and now, after giving birth, she still reacted to some scents._ Severus was pacing the rotund chamber, maneuvering deftly between the sofa, the table, the chairs and Johns crib, that deep crease of worry between his brows prominent on his face.

Forcing down her bile, trying to close her nostrils to the smell of the Firewhisky, she asked: "Who are they, exactly? And why are they connected to their Houses?"

"Let me check," Severus murmured, going over to a bookshelf, to pick up an enormous scroll. "This is the ' _Hogwarts: A History'_ in its original form", he said, throwing her an amused glance. "Unfortunately, it's spelled to only show it's secrets to the Headmaster."

She stared greedily at it, almost drinking in the sight of the yellowed parchment. In fact, it was obviously enchanted, being of an almost immense length. "Not even if I look over your shoulder?" she asked, feeling an acute want for that knowledge, just beyond her grasp.

"No," he chuckled, "you won't see a thing, love."

He put his wand to the scroll, whispering "ghosts", and the scroll obeyed, unrolling itself in a cloud of dust through until it stopped, quivering midair, and a soft, golden light shone on a section.

"Ah," her husband said, leaning forward. He frowned, and she followed his expression with a curiosity that almost felt painful. Suddenly, his arm jerked, like he was surprised.

"Did you know," he said, "the Grey Lady is actually Rowena's daughter? And, she was killed by the Bloody Baron!"

They shared a triumphant grin, knowing that if anyone would know about Rowena Ravenclaw's artifacts, it would be her own daughter.

Xxxx

In private, her old Head of House - _former_ Head of House, that was - acted like she had become grandmother for real. No matter her stern appearance, Minerva McGonagall cuddled their son, cooed at him, and made colourful swirls and sparks rain out of her wand to entertain little John. Meanwhile, her public act of disgust and disdain was unparallelled, making Hermione feel uncomfortable by the hatred her husband was met with.

The tower room was nearly dark, the fire had gone out a hour or so before midnight, and a chill was seeping into the room. _No one was to suspect that the Headmaster and his wife entertained guests past midnight. For anyone watching the light from their windows from the outside, it should seem like a quiet night, like the Death Eater Headmaster had gone to bed with his wife._

"You should ask the Grey Lady," Minerva said, hiding her hands inside her robe to stave off the cold, nodding at Hermione. "She should be able to bond with you."

"Bond?" Severus asked, that damnable eyebrow arching again.

"Yes," Minerva said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "You, Hermione, have been forced into a situation much like in the medieval times. An exceptionally bright young girl, forced to marry a man far beyond your years, and him siring a child almost immediately after the wedding. Helena would have been pestered to marry ever since her Hogwarts education ended, and would have seen countless of her friends submitting to arranged marriages. She would sympathize with your plight."

The silence became uncomfortable. Hermione didn't dare to meet Severus' eyes, though she felt his stare burning into her. _She knew, he wondered even now, if she resented him for taking away her future by getting her pregnant._

In a way she did, she still resented the whole idea of the thrice-damned Marriage Law, resenting having to postpone her education and her career, but she certainly didn't think it Severus' fault.

Giving him a brief glance anyway, she could see his mouth was pinched shut so hard, his lips were whitening, and his eyebrows drawn down into a deep scowl. Still, given his reaction, she felt guilty for even thinking about the fact that she would never had chosen this life for herself, being stuck with a baby - even though she loved little John more than her own life - and then there was their role of playing traitor. As it seemed in the Horcrux research, her only usefulness would be her ability to bond with a ghost over her sad life. _And,_ she knew _, Severus were quite aware of how she felt about her lack of choice._

Slowly, she cleared her throat, looking straight at McGonagall. "I'll do it. Your argument seems valid." _Because as long as she was useful for anything, anything to help Harry and Ron, she'd do it._

McGonagall nodded, and her sharp, beadlike eyes darted from Severus to Hermione. "I see, " the old witch said slowly. "I will take my leave for the evening." Stopping by the door, she turned around, saying: "I didn't mean to presume this was the case between you two. I was only pointing out how we'd get the Grey Lady on our side in the easiest way. Goodnight."

The door closed after Minerva, and Severus shut her out. _At least, that's what it felt like._ His face closed up, and he turned his back to her, pretending to browse through the bookshelf. But the tense posture, the way his hands were clenching and unclenching, told another story. He was very much aware of her, and she knew, he was part stressed, part nervous and part sad and angry.

Hermione sighed, before walking up to him. Tugging at his sleeve, she said lightly: "Hey. I don't mind."

He took a deep breath, grasping her hand, and the rumble of his voice was so low, she almost had to strain her hearing: "I do mind. I want you to have the life you wanted. I want to give you _everything._ "

Stroking his hand, casting quick glance at the softly swinging crib, seeing her son asleep, she rubbed her face into his arm. "I know. Just … don't make this any bigger than it needs to be, right?"

Severus snorted, his face hidden behind the strands of his black, oily hair. Slowly, his other arm came up around her back, pressing her to him. For a moment they just leaned into each other, before she noticed, his touch took on a different quality, becoming searching, demanding, exploring her body. She stiffened, feeling her body react, telling her that she wasn't ready yet. _But when will I be? Maybe we should try, it has been weeks since the birth._

She knew, the time for celibacy was soon up, anyway. The Marriage Law allowed a brief respite from the sexual requirement for three and a half month after giving birth. Swallowing her nerves, she forced her body to relax, to lean into him, caressing him back, letting her hands rest on the strong muscles of his chest and abdomen, moving skittishly downward.

He drew a shuddering breath, groaning: "Oh Hermione, it has been so long…"

"Yes," she mumbled, almost inaudibly, still not feeling arousal.

Rubbing her back, he snuck his hands inside her shirt, massaging her hips and back, before moving up to her breasts. When his hand squeezed her breast, embarrassingly enough, her milk started to flow, wetting her bra and nursing pads.

He chuckled, saying softly: "Maybe not so much attention on your tits for the time being, then?"

She whispered an awkward "yes," not really knowing if she was ready for attention somewhere else, either.

He rid himself of his shirt, his hands fumbling with his buttons like he was in a hurry, and she continued stroking him, seeing the sizeable bulge formed by his cock in his trousers. Palming him slowly outside his trousers, she felt him harden more, and a deep groan came from his chest.

Breathlessly, he muttered: " _Divesto"_ , removing all of their clothing, wet nursing pads and all. He pushed her down in a chair, milk still leaking down her stomach, and spread her thighs apart.

"I've missed this, your sweet cunt," he growled, and she almost winced, looking down on his cock, already leaking in anticipation. _The thought of taking that big, hard cock up her abused nether parts was daunting._

His head moved in, and then he was licking her. It went on and on, and she couldn't really focus, couldn't make herself enjoy it, even though she wanted to, because the thought ' _it's too early, I don't want to'_ , kept interrupting on her resolve to go through with this.

After a while, he leaned back on his haunches, a dark, unreadable look in his eyes. "You don't want it, do you?" he said, voice a little gravelly, his chin shining from what had to be mostly his own saliva.

Closing her eyes briefly - _she didn't want to disappoint him -_ she still knew, there was no reason to lie. _He would know._ Nodding, she looked at him, half fearful for his reaction.

"That's what I thought," he said, voice strained and forcedly calm. Getting up, he backed away, saying stiffly: "I'm not going to force you, I'll _never_ force you of my own will, Hermione. I hope you know that. I'm not that kind of a monster. We'll wait. Please, don't make yourself do something that you don't want for me, I can wait." Striding into the bathroom, she heard the door slam, and the shower was turned on.

Sniffling, she gathered her clothes, starting to dress herself. _She was useless. She couldn't even manage sex. She couldn't even manage mustering enough enthusiasm to make her husband want her._

Instead he got hurt, feeling guilty for their past. He had been overly worried about her consent after Beltane, at times almost ruining the mood between them. _Well, at least she knew, he wanted her consent more than anything. The thing was, he didn't realize he had it, though only in her mind, as her stupid body didn't comply with what she wanted. Stupid wizard, stupid witch…_

And then John woke, mewling for milk _right now_ , his small hands waving frantically in the air.

Xxxx

Hermione fingered the diadem, wondering how, exactly, one could put a piece of one's soul inside a piece of jewellery. The diadem was beautiful, though not something anyone but Luna would opt to wear today. Though, she supposed, around the year 1000, it had been the height of fashion.

"So," McGonagall said briskly. "I have alerted the boys, and they are awaiting me within minutes. Severus, if you please, would lift the Apparition wards for me?"

"Yes," he said, for once looking excited.

 _It was happening, Hermione realized, feeling a keen sense of triumph, Harry was about to destroy a Horcrux._

McGonagall stood in the middle of the rotund stone floor, looking warrior-like with the great Sword of Gryffindor strapped to her back over her flapping robe. Hermione figured, she should rather have had a flowing tartan cape to complete the look, but even as she felt her mouth tug into a small smile, _that_ feeling struck her. _She wanted to go too. She wanted to see Harry and Ron, to check if her boys were ok without her. To do something real and tangible, to be in action, to do something that didn't involve her own, sweet-smelling milk and nuzzling soft baby skin._

Almost involuntarily, she gasped out: "Can I go too?"

"What?" Severus turned to her, a surprised look in her eyes, but McGonagall shook her head with a fond smile.

"No, lass, you'd better stay here, to take care of John. That's _your_ job for the time being, girl. I know you want to see your friends, and that is certainly commendable. I'll make sure to give them your greetings, but you don't need to worry about the boys right now. Leave it to me and Severus, we'll take care of it all, while you take care of John."

"Minerva's right," Severus said fervently, "you shouldn't put yourself in danger now."

Her face fell, and inside, she felt an acute sense of disappointment and dismay. _Didn't they think she could handle it? In their opinion, wasn't she - the brightest witch of her age - able to lure past a couple of Death Eaters standing guard on the perimeters of Grimmauld?_

"Well, at least that's decided," Minerva said briskly, before Disillusioning herself. Severus completed a complex wand movement, giving the old witch the opportunity to Apparate out of the castle.

"Good luck," Hermione said, putting up a brave front, _though all she wanted to do was to cry_ , sending a falsely bright smile in McGonagall's direction, handing the invisible witch the diadem.

"Be careful," Severus added.

The old witch chuckled, the sound floating eerily through the space. "You know, I have been in dangerous situations before. I know the perimeter is full of Death Eaters, and I know they will attack as soon as they hear the crack of Apparition. Really, I've been there often enough."

With a **CRACK!** she was gone, and Severus shrugged. "Can't be too careful," he said, "especially when dealing with Gryffindors."

"Hey! I resent that," she said, arching her eyebrow playfully at him, a small, brittle smile on her mouth. _But it hurt. What if Severus actually meant that? What if he thought she wasn't careful enough to take care of her own safely?_

Restlessly, they sat down, waiting for McGonagall to return.

Hermione sighed.

She had cajoled the Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw, into talking. Like Minerva had predicted, the ghost had taken pity on Hermione, sympathizing with her plight, agreeing that the Marriage Law was barbaric. She had freely given up the information that, the diadem was back in school, in the Room of Hidden Things.

The three of them had spent a whole night combing through the room, finally discovering the diadem, hanging haphazardly on top of a small bust. _Though,_ Hermione had to admit, _her own contribution to the search had been significantly less than theirs, with her stopping to nurse her sweet, hungry little boy every now and then._

Now, she crossed her fingers for the Sword of Gryffindor would do the deed. _One step closer to bring Voldemort to his end. The diary, the ring and now the diadem gone, they only had to find three more._ She shuddered, not wanting to think about the last Horcrux. After Albus' death, Severus had shared that last, terrible secret with her and McGonagall. They were horrified, all of them, but it only intensified their research. _Killing Voldemort and saving Harry, it had to be a way to do both!_

As of yet, they hadn't told Harry. Dumbledore, both in life and as a portrait, was adamant that they shouldn't do so yet, but Hermione still felt bad about it. _Harry deserved to know. In fact, she had sometimes thought, he had suspected something like this himself, being willing to lay down his life for the wizarding world. She just hoped, he wouldn't have to do it._

A resounding **CRACK!** made her start, and even Severus flinched visibly. But there was no need to worry, because a grinning McGonagall returned, sword in hand.

"This was pure barry!" she exclaimed, setting the sword down. "I entered, and right there, in the Entrance Hall, Harry just swung the sword and bang! Like that it was gone."

"Nothing happened?" Severus said in disbelief. "Are we sure it was an actual Horcrux?"

"Aye, it was an actual Horcrux, alright. There was a giant, swirling black mist as the sword struck, towering over us, wailing something horribly, but then it dissipated. The diadem was cracked and broken, so I'd say it's well and truly destroyed."

"Fantastic," Severus breathed, a light of hope shining in his eyes. It went straight to Hermione's heart, and she realized, she so wanted, no _craved_ to see him happy and hopeful, relieved from the enormous stress he lived under.

"I have an idea," he said, still smiling. "Albus' speculation that the snake, Nagini, is a Horcrux, is in all likelihood true.. Still, if it's not, the would will be better off without it. I've been thinking about how we could get a Death Eater to kill it."

"A Death Eater?" Hermione said, feeling curious. "They would know this is paramount to suicide, wouldn't they?"

"Absolutely. He'll kill anyone who harms that snake. "Now," and his eyes narrowed dangerously, reminding Hermione that Severus, being a spy notwithstanding, actually _was_ a Death Eater too, being accustomed to plot someone else's death and ruin.

Callously, he continued: "Antonin Dolohov is a brutal beast, as you both very well know. I would like to set him up, making him kill the snake. I can Imperio and Obliviate him to the point where the Dark Lord won't find a trace of me, but I would like to bring in Lucius or Narcissa to feed the snake a potion to make it more aggressive. Then, it would seem that Dolohov had reason to attack, if Nagini attacks first. Even the Dark Lord would fall for that, not investigating the attack too closely."

"Bring in the Malfoys?" McGonagall said dubiously, and Hermione shuddered, remembering how she had tortured Lucius on Beltane.

The film played out in her head, like it had done so many times before:

 _The curse thundered through her, her veins vibrant with power, like she could see the red blood in her veins thrumming with her magic. Her heart rate quickened, her breath became heavy, little pants escaping her mouth as she struggled to get enough air, and her vision dimmed as sparks of darkness climbed from the edges to the centre. Hold it, hold it, hold it, she chanted to herself, struggling to keep it all contained._

" _Yes, that's it," the voice hissed in her ear, a long, thin, tall body pushing into her back, as Voldemort raised her arm effortlessly, commanding her: "Point your wand. Say the words. Turn the power into their pain, and then - turn the pain into your power, little witch."_

 _Hermione gasped, trying to focus amidst the power rushing in her ears, the heavy, most unwelcome arousal throbbing in her body. "Yes, I will."_

" _Lovely, my sweet. Now, release!"_

 _It was a relief like no other, like the summit of a thousand orgasms, as she released her pent-up build of magic. "Crucio," she half shouted, pointing her wand at the victim the Dark Lord had set for her._

Forcing herself out of that horrid nightmare, her own shame for being _turned on_ by torturing, though Severus had explained that close to everyone experienced arousal by casting the Cruciatus, she swallowed down the bile threatening to spill over into her mouth, focusing her concentration on what was happening here, right now.

"Narcissa and Lucius are wrecks by now," Severus said softly. "They are broken, and they are no longer supporters of the Dark Lord. They just don't know what to do with themselves. I believe they can be subverted, and they have the opportunity to spike the snake's food."

Hermione blinked. _The Malfoys turning spy on Voldemort? It made some kind of sense, and Draco had been acting civilly, even after she tortured his father. Maybe even more, knowing that she was forced into it too._

McGonagall sighed. "I can't say I like this, but you know them better, I suppose. Severus, I trust that your Legilimency is good enough to detect any troubles with the Malfoys."

Her husband gave them a wry smile. "If not for their wish to get rid of the Dark Lord, they would jump at the opportunity to get rid of the snake. It's feeding off their precious peacocks every now and then. If you can't trust the Malfoys' morality, at least you can trust their vanity."

Xxxx

In passing, Draco Malfoy nodded at her, respectfully. She gave him a jerky nod in return, her face burning at the thought how she had wronged his family. _Mindlessly torturing his father, having a public orgasm herself while his mother suffered oral rape a few metres beside her. And Draco watching the whole thing._

"Madam Snape," he said diffidently, falling into steps beside her.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged, wanting nothing more than getting away from the dratted Malfoy heir. _To be reminded of her own cruelty and debasement… Well, it certainly wasn't Draco's fault._

"Would you please tell the Headmaster that my mother and my father send their respect, and they accept his invitation?" Malfoy spoke so quietly, he barely moved his lips.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she at first didn't quite grasp his message. _Invitation? Whenever had Severus invited the Malfoys over, and not telling her…?_ And then it hit her. _This was momentous. Draco had just told her the Malfoys had changed their allegiance._

Staying in her role, by now well-versed in pretend impassiveness, she answered haughtily: "About time. We'll so look forward to seeing your lovely parents at our functions."

At that, Draco looked incredulously at her, but then the corners of his eyes crinkled, and she could see him fight down the rare urge to laugh.

Xxxx

"Mmm," she sighed. Reclining on the sofa, she felt _pampered,_ plain and simple. John was asleep in his crib, one, small fist curled underneath his chin, his breathing soft and with the disconcerting irregularity of infants. In her hand, she had a steaming cup of tea, brewed my a master. At her feet, she had Severus, massaging her legs, warm, big hands pressing down on tense muscles she didn't even know she had. _It was bliss. True, domestic bliss, fit for a dark night late in November, and for a moment, she couldn't bring herself to care about Voldemort and Harry Potter and the end of the world._

And then reality set in, as Severus let her go with a hiss, clutching his left arm.

"Sorry, love," he said, grimacing through the burning from his Mark.

"I know, be careful," she said, and the leaden weight of fear, anguish and her own failure to do something meaningful to win the war settled in again.

* * *

 **A/N:** _The question I asked myself before starting this chapter, was how to keep the awkwardness rolling. After all, Hermione and Severus are, at this point, in a reasonably happy relationship. That's why I had to create a situation, that would make her feel out of sorts. I think the feeling of NOT being in action, would make Hermione feel bad, like a failure. Hence, this chapter. Please, tell me what you think!_


	12. The Headmaster's Wife 2: Years and Years

**A/N** : _And here's the final part of Awkward! Whew, I told you, part one and two together is a monster, lengthwise. I hope you'll enjoy the ending! And please, let me know what you think._

* * *

 ** _Part Two of the Headmaster's Wife: Years and Years._**

* * *

The heavy snow was settling on her cloak, making her hair frizz and her curls spring up like bouncy metal coils. Hurrying inside Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, on a secret mission to buy Christmas presents for Severus, she was almost running in her excitement, though she also felt bad for leaving little John in the care of the House-elves for two hours. She knew, they would take good care of him, but it still felt strangely wrong to be apart from him. _Still, to be out on her own..._

"Ooomph!"

Smacking into a solid body, she found herself lying on the floor, her parcels spread all over, looking up into the face of Molly Weasley.

First, the red-headed witch looked surprised, and then her face darkened into a glower, her usually friendly smile turning into a sneer.

Deliberately, cruelly, Molly Weasley dusted off her cloak like she had been touched by something repugnant and loathsome, something _unclean_.

"Pardon me," Ron's mother said, looking down her nose at Hermione. "I didn't mean to get in the way of _his Lordship's_ most loyal follower."

The sheer hatred and disgust made Hermione feel nauseous and humiliated. The joy of being out on her own, to do something alone, just by herself, was smashed into pieces by the looks of loathing she was getting by the employees, the customers and Molly herself. The half-circle of people forming around her became blurry, and she heard whispers: "It's Granger! The Headmaster's whore… The traitorous bitch!" Somewhere, the sound almost muffled, a vaguely familiar voice said: "Madam Snape, are you alright?"

Biting her lip, she got up, gathered her parcels and ran, barely keeping her tears in check.

Stumbling through the darkened, half-empty streets of Diagon, she wondered if she really was cut out for doing this. _She was so weak, so pathetic, sniffling at Molly Weasley's despisal, not being able to handle even the smallest part of the hatred Severus was met with._ Scrubbing her eyes as she sobbed, she plodded forward in the snow, until she found herself in front of a well-lit shop window, the "Healer's Help".

On display, there were medical equipment, as well as books. Her eyes fell on a book with a cooing, black-haired baby on the cover, and she felt a soft smile forming, until she noted the title. "Magical Post-Partum Depression: How to Heal Witches".

Suddenly, she wondered. _This feeling of uselessness, of being less worthy than everyone else - could this be a result of giving birth?_ Her mind felt muddy and sluggish, but then she shook herself. _Of course it wasn't. She was Hermione Granger, and she was far too rational to ever feel something like that._ She almost laughed at her own stupidity, while fresh tears leaked from her eyes.

Xxxx

At home, she nuzzled the fuzzy head of her baby, seeing him quickly drink his fill from her, before he burped and promptly fell asleep. Smiling lovingly at her little son - _a big boy now, almost four months old -_ she wished it could be this easy every time. Often, she ended up walking with him on her arm, singing for an hour or so, before John would yawn and fall asleep. _Today was a good day, but she needed that._ Shuddering, she tried to force the memory of Molly's blatant despisal away, as she put John down in his crib, setting it to rock gently with a spell, smoothing the covers over his tiny, but sturdy little body.

Sinking down into the sofa, she ordered tea, not having any strength left to agonize over the House-elf enslavement, covering herself up with a blanket, staring listlessly out in the darkening room. There were no more tears, just this awful, yawning chasm of emptiness inside her, staring back at her, making all that was Hermione Granger dwindle into insignificance. _Everyone she had ever cared about hated and despised her, and she was useless, not being able to contribute to help Harry and Ron, not in any way that mattered. She was a failure._

Sometime before dinner, Severus showed up. He took one glance at her, before sitting down beside her. "How do you feel?" he said.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He looked at her for a while, before he pulled her into his arms. "Hermione," he said, voice a little rusty: "You're not alright. I've seen it for weeks."

Nodding, she felt her eyes slowly fill with tears.

Severus stroked her arms, holding her tight. "You're under a lot of pressure, love. Besides, it's not uncommon, my sweet, to feel a little off after giving birth, there's no shame in this. Maybe you should talk to Pomfrey, getting an assessment. If she says so, I can make you..."

"No!" she barked, feeling a sudden rush of anger and an acute sense of dread. _What if she was exposed as a useless loser? Pomfrey would happily chat about the Headmaster's good-for-nothing-wife, telling the other teachers what a disappointment she was, letting all her potential going to waste as she whored herself out to the Headmaster..._ "No, there's nothing wrong with me! I'm just tired, too little sleep. I'm fine!"

He arched an eyebrow at her, and she stared him down, anger burning through her. After a moment, he said slowly: "Very well. If so, we might as well utilize your … _tiredness_ … in the Great Hall. Keep that expression on your face, and everyone will believe you have been abused quite badly. Even this might be worth something, in the everlasting task of keeping our facade."

Her anger left her, quite suddenly, and she felt even more drained than before. Weakly, she said: "Please, no, I would much prefer to have dinner up here."

Giving her a pitying look, he shook his head. "No, love. We cannot allow ourselves the luxury of not playing our role. You must come with me to supper. Though it's hard, it will work out for the best, tricking the Carrows and others that might be in touch with other Death Eaters. But I really do think you should talk to Pomfrey."

Xxxx

During breakfast, an owl came for Ginny Weasley. The ensuing scream was horrible, ear-splitting, like the girl howled out her very soul. Minerva scrambled down to the Gryffindor table, careening through the crowd forming around Ginny. The girl was standing upright, tears sprouting from her closed eyes, those unearthly wails tearing out of her, only stopping with each sharp intake of breath.

Hermione felt dread crawling down her spine, like a thousand small spiders. _Was it Ron? Bill? Charlie? George or Fred? Maybe Percy?_

Minerva gripped the girls shoulders, wrenching the letter out of her hands. When her face blanched and her thin lips quivered, Hermione knew, _this was it_. _A Weasley had indeed died. And was it wrong to hope Ron was still safe?_

The stern witch put her arm around Ginny, turning her around to lead her out of the Hall. As the great doors closed behind them, the Hall seemed eerily silent, most of the students still standing, staring partly at the doors, partly at the Gryffindor table. Slowly, whispered babbling began, the volume increasing steadily.

A sharp crack, whiplike,shot through the Hall, and her husband rose, his face an icy mask.

"There's no need to talk. Sit _down_."

The silence was immediate, and only the sound of boots scraping against the floor and rustled robes was heard. Every, single student looked down at their plates, no one daring to attract the attention of their dreaded Headmaster.

"More tea, dear?" he said to her, and the forced calm in his voice was evident to her.

"Yes, darling, I'd love to," she chirped automatically.

To her left, she could see the Carrows sniggering to themselves.

Xxxx

A short while later, she was on the bed, nursing _again,_ having almost fallen into _a_ near-doze from her lack of sleep the previous night, though her anxiety gnawed at her. _Who was it? Neither she nor Severus could seem to care, but not knowing was awful._

Then Severus' voice from his office was no longer a murmur, the volume raising steadily, but she gave a start as he bellowed:

"I would much prefer if the two of you left chastisements and revenge pertaining to _my wife_ up to me! I assure you, I am more than capable of doing that. Or maybe you'd care for a demonstration, you dimwits?!"

Whoever they were, she heard muttered "no, surely not, our apologies…" before the door slammed shut to their quarters. Moments later, Severus stalked into the bedchamber, robes in full billow.

But his face - _of, his face_ \- he looked stricken. Sitting down on the edge of their bed, he smoothed her hair away from her brow, and icy fear settled in her chest.

"Hermione, love. Don't blame yourself for what I'm about to tell you. The Carrows … they apparently witnessed you being scorned by Molly Weasley in Diagon Alley. They took it upon themselves to avenge you, to gain favour. I'm so sorry, they killed Molly Weasley."

All her breath seemed to leave her at once, and she felt darkness intrude on her vision. Panting, she whimpered slightly. _No no, no no, nononononononononono…_ _Ron, oh, having lost his mother, because of her…_

And then Severus scooped her up, baby and all, and clutched her to him. "Love, it isn't your fault, it isn't."

Xxxx

The time was up, it was the middle of December, and the Marriage Law demanded their coupling. They were both sitting beside each other in the bed, naked, like they had no idea where to begin.

Severus was worried and nervous, she could tell, and frankly, she wasn't sure if she wanted it, yet. _The good thing was, her body felt more like her own than last time they had tried, but still…_

 _Between nursing, trying to get sleep, caring for her son and trying to find time for researching how to keep Harry alive, sex was the very last thing on her mind_.

Still, she felt bad for Severus. _He was so worried about forcing himself on her, though the Marriage Law forced them both, in her opinion._

Giving him a small smile, she said: "It may not be fabulous, but at least, we'll try to make it good together."

He sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "I'm worried about hurting you. I want you to enjoy this too, just as much as I do."

"I know," she said, turning to him, giving him a hug. "Please, use the Lubricatem spell, just to get me going. The hormones can dry me up, you know."

He nodded, and suddenly, she was slick between her legs, the brush of his wordless magic like a caress. Reaching out to his head, drawing him in, she kissed him. He made a small sound in his throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue hungry and demanding in her mouth. His hands came up to cup her breasts carefully, almost tickling her, and as her nipples tightened, the let-down reflex started.

"Merlin, this is embarrassing," she mumbled, Vanishing the milk spilling out. He just laughed, saying with amusement: "It's your body's way of telling me your lovely tits still belong to someone else. Like a sign of ´no trespassing´, right?"

"Something like that," she muttered. Luckily, the milk flow stopped quickly. He caressed her stomach, hips and inner thighs instead, and she felt a pleasant tingle starting, squirming as his hands moved closer to the apex of her thighs.

"I want your arousal, I want you to want me too," he whispered, voice gruff, as his hands parted her lips, rubbing her slit slowly.

"Mmm" she sighed, "it feels good, Severus." And it was, but she also realized, while it felt good, it wasn't enough. _She wouldn't reach her peak this time._ There was no point dragging this out. _But how to tell him? Fake it, girl,_ she thought.

"Please, take me," she moaned, looking him straight into those dark orbs, her Occlumency shields high.

His throat moved, swallowing, and he scrambled up, positioning himself between her legs. As the tip of his large cock graced her opening, she barely hid her flinch. _She was nervous, alright._

Pushing forward, he grunted, and she felt his intrusion acutely, like he shoved something that didn't belong in there inside her. With a push, he seated himself fully, groaning in pleasure, his eyes closed.

She embraced him, holding him tight against her, rocking her hips to get him moving, and slowly, he complied, starting to thrust inside her.

"Gods, I've missed your tight cunt, I've missed being inside you!" His eyes were closed, and his face almost contorted in pleasure.

She chuckled a little, asking, suddenly nervous: "Is it still tight?"

"What?" he stopped his movement, opening his eyes to stare at her. "Absolutely. Silly chit, were you worried about that?"

"A little," she said, knowing that she couldn't hide her uncertainty from him.

"You feel tight, wonderful and wet, like always," he said, his smile almost tender, and she felt herself relax from a tension she hadn't quite realized existed.

He started moving again, thrusting slowly, evenly inside her, grunting: "Make no mistake, little witch, you're just as desirable to me as before, birth and milk leakage are just facts of life. Your cunt is clenching me so good, and my cock loves the feeling of sliding through your silky, wet pussy lips."

As he thrust harder, she moved with him, feeling it as pleasurable, _in fact very nice,_ but not with the hot passion and desire she remembered. His cock stretched her, sliding in and out easily, and she looked up in his face, feeling so much tenderness and caring for him. _She wanted him to feel good._

"I can't hold back, little witch, I'm going to come in your cunt now, fill your pussy with my come," he muttered, sweat forming on his brow, and then he groaned deeply, thrusting hard, jerkily, eyes wide open as he shuddered, his cock pulsing inside her.

Kissing him, she stroked his back as he relaxed inside her, his rapid heartbeat gradually slowing. Pulling away after a while, he smiled at her. "Would you want my hands or my tongue, love?"

Swallowing nervously, she said: "I'm good, this was enough for me, right now."

She felt like a light went out of his eyes, and he replied tonelessly: " I see."

Flopping down on his back, she pressed herself into him, burrowing her face into his chest. His hand came up to hold her, slowly, carefully, and she fought back her tears. _She had disappointed him again, bringing him pain and disturbing memories. She was a failure. Again. Not being able to manage her marriage, not being a good enough researcher to help her friends, only relying on other people's effort. She was useless. As for now, she was only a mother, not good enough for anything else. Not good enough to fulfill her own dreams and ambitions, much less his._

Listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat against his ribcage, she counted everything her husband and Minerva had done for Harry and Ron.

 _Yes, Minerva had been vital in securing Harry and Ron's safety, and instrumental in destroying the Horcruxes by bringing them the Sword of Gryffindor._

 _Yes, Severus had figured out Nagini. Yes, he had enlisted the Malfoys._

 _Yes, even the Malfoys had been helping out, feeding Nagini that potion._

 _Yes, Severus had successfully Imperio'ed Dolohov, Obliviating every trace of his manipulation, and yes, Dolohov had killed Nagini, in return being executed by Voldemort._

 _She, herself, had barely done a thing, talking to the Grey Lady, and recent events put her efforts even more to shame._

 _The Malfoy's had suddenly offered up knowledge of another Horcrux, Bellatrix bragging to her sister about protecting something important for Lord Voldemort in her Gringott's vault._

 _Dauntingly enough, her brave husband and the Malfoy's had Imperio'ed the mad witch, forcing her to retrieve the item, and then the three of them had Obliviated her. Her only contribution had been concocting a story the boys would believe. Minerva had visited the boys with the sword again, feeding them the lie of how Minerva's research had led her to the site of Voldemort's birthplace, Wool's Orphanage, finding the Horcrux magically hidden underneath the new house situated on the grounds._

Hermione sighed. _Though no efforts of her own, there was at least only two Horcruxes to go. And the last one would be more terrible than anything else._

Xxxx

Nervously, she straightened her robes, peering at the dark hole in the bathroom. _Finally, she would get to see Ron and Harry again._ Ron and Harry had stolen Slytherin's locket from Umbridge, and Minerva had brought them into Hogwarts, Harry opening the Chamber of Secrets. They had decided, Hermione would be there too, when Minerva told them about the last Horcrux. _Finally, she would get to do something herself, even watching Harry destroy the locket with a basilisk fang._ Severus was in his office, probably pacing nervously, and he had set the castle wards to repel anyone heading for the girls' bathroom.

Entering the pipe nervously, the Chamber gaping open, she slid down, wrinkling her nose at the faint, dry smell from the large reptile that used to live down there.

The crunch of bones from the skeletons at the bottom was as expected, but still disgusting, and she vowed to Scourgify her boots when she was done, down here in this cold, forbidding cavern. Checking, the little vial was secure in her pocket.

The _Lumos_ from her wand shone with a faint light at the rounded walls of the tunnel, but soon enough, she entered the Chamber proper. In the distance, mirrored by the water, she saw the great, hulking carcass of the basilisk. Shuddering, she tried to imagine what it must have been like when it was alive, hunting for blood. McGonagall and two tall figures stood hunched over a pile of long, white poles. _Basilisk bones_ , she thought, but with a shiver down her spine, she realized, it wasn't. _Those more than foot-long poles had to be its fangs_.

A particularly loud crunch from a rat skeleton under her feet alerted the three people to her her presence, and they turned around.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, and Ron sprinted towards her, lifting her up to spin her around.

"Gods, how are you?" he said gruffly, grabbing her chin to make her look up at him. Those earnest, blue eyes searched her face, but she blinked back tears, choking out: "Gods, Ron, I'm so sorry about your Mum, it was horrible."

His lips thinned, and he shook his head. "Can't talk about it, I can't think about it, Hermione. Not yet." She nodded, eyes brimming, and then Harry shoved him away to hug her to.

"McGonagall says you're alright, but how can you be?" he muttered, crushing her to him. She winced by the harsh grip, but leaned her head into Harry for a brief moment.

Taking a deep breath, she freed herself, giving the boys a brittle smile. ""I'm alright, I truly am. Don't worry about me, I worry so much about you, what with you being hunted…"

"Yes, thanks to that _husband_ of yours," Harry spat. "He's proved himself to be exactly the bastard we thought he was."

She shared a quick look with McGonagall, but they both knew, it was too early to tell. _If the boys were caught, if Severus' position was compromised, it would mean swift retribution and a cruel, agonizingly slow death for him._

Though, she couldn't leave it completely to their imaginations. "He's good to me, and our son," she said quietly, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Harry's face darkened, but Ron stepped up, trying to communicate _something_ to her with his eyes.

Seeing Harry ball his fists, a dark scowl settling on his face, Ron said hurriedly: "She's deluded, Harry, you know, she's practically a prisoner. Give her a break. Don't … just don't start a fight, when we finally got to see her."

There was a few brief, tense moments, Ron's eyes pleading with her to keep silent, before Harry's shoulders slumped. "Of course, Ron, you're right," he said tiredly, dragging his hand through his hair.

Taking a closer look, she noted both boys had become taller, thinner, but they also looked significantly older. _Worried, stressed, and so much more serious than she remembered._

"You could come with us," Ron continued, giving her a gentle smile.

Shaking her head, she said: "No. My son…"

Ron shrugged, giving her an understanding look. "Right. Well, at least, know that you'll always be more than welcome to join us."

Minerva cleared her throat, and said authoritatively: "As always, I must assure you, Hermione is not in danger. Her son could be, if she left with the two of you."

Harry sighed. "I suppose you're right. And with the Marriage Law…" Suddenly, he stared at her with disgust: "Do you still have to… you know…, with _him_?" He made a crude motion with his hands, and Hermione blushed.

Snapping, she said hotly: "None of your damned business, Harry!"

Ron looked faintly green, but said: "With how things turned out, I'm just happy I didn't get the chance to marry Lavender. She's probably better for it. Though…"

Hermione patted his arm, feeling the coarse, rough fabric of his robe under her hands. He looked like he tried to be brave, and suddenly, she wondered if he had actually loved Lavender. _And then, she felt bad, because she didn't know. She had no idea if one of her best friends were in love._ Slowly, she said: "She looks alright, being married to Dean, if that's any consolation."

"Yes," Ron sighed, his eyes with a faraway look, before he pulled himself together. "Right, we're here to kill the Horcrux. Checking if using a basilisk fang can do the job too."

Hermione nodded, sharing quick glance with McGonagall. _A vital check-up on feasibility of their other plan, too._

Harry fumbled with a string around his neck, and produced a heavy locket, putting it gingerly down on the floor. "Stand back," he said, picking up a long fang, and with a swift thrust, he swung it down into the locket.

A dark shadow rose with a piercing wail, swelling into immensity with an increasingly loud howl, before the locket shuddered and the shadow dispersed. The silence was ringing.

Slowly, Hermione lowered her hands, having not even realized she had covered her ears. Ron grinned infectiously, and suddenly, they were all laughing and smiling, hugging each other and patting each others' backs, even the stern Professor McGonagall.

"Another one gone!" hollered Ron, and by that, she felt her face fall. _Oh. It was time._

"One to go," Minerva said firmly, locking her eyes on Harry. Her friend's large, green eyes widened, and he said slowly: "I am one too, am I not?"

"I'm afraid so, my boy," Minerva answered. Ron's face fell, and Hermione bit her lip, hard.

"So, how should I do this? Do I have to let him kill me? But who will kill him when I am dead?" Harry looked at Minerva, searching for answers.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione almost whimpered, before giving him a tremulous smile. Embarking on their cover story, she proceeded to lie her teeth off to her best friends: "You know, I live in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore told me, he had prepared for this."

The truth was far from it, because as far as they knew, Dumbledore had no plan for Harry's survival whatsoever. _It was a good thing, then, that the two finest minds of the Hogwarts Professors had found a solution, no thanks to her own, meagre contribution._

"Harry, you must ingest basilisk venom. He - _she refused to say Dumbledore -_ has prepared a potion that'll bring you back from the brink of death. Our hope is, this will return you to life, destroying the Horcrux."

"It's true," Minerva said firmly, and the boys nodded. Hermione noted, the boys seemed to accept everything Minerva said. _No wonder the old witch had almost the status of Merlin in their eyes, what with all the help they had been getting from her._

 _Still, they were so thick, so stupid to believe in this. Dumbledore was no potioneer. There was only one Potion Master in Britain who had ever claimed the ability to stopper death, but obviously, that wasn't on the boys' radar at all._

"That's why you asked us to come, wasn't it?" Harry asked, looking suddenly young and insecure. "And you," he turned to Hermione, "you're here to say goodbye, in case I don't wake up again?"

"Yes," she whispered, tears running down her face, "but I'm sure the potion will do the trick. And I wanted to see you. To see you both," she clarified, looking at Ron too.

He looked devastated. His hands, awkwardly fluttering, like he didn't know what to do with them, his face pale, blue eyes shining with unshed tears and a simmering anger. "This is it, then?" he croaked. "Harry needs to die, and possibly, but maybe not, waking up? In this sick plan, who the fuck thinks about him, eh? Who takes care of Harry?"

Minerva sighed, saying gently: "I hope we all do, but this … this is hard. On Harry, and you Ron. And for us."

"How long have you known?" Harry said tonelessly.

"For a while," Minerva said evasively. "Dumbledore's portrait was adamant we didn't tell you before all the others were gone, though."

Harry stood still, just breathing in and out, chest heaving with repressed emotions, before he shook himself. "Alright. Do I take the antidote first, or do you administer it later?"

"Later," Hermione said, her voice shaking. _She trusted Severus, she really did, but effectively, she would see Harry die. Right now._

"Pierce your skin with the basilisk fang, your throat is supposedly preferable, and then, after … after.." _Gods, she couldn't say this, but she had to. "_ After you're stilled, when you no longer …." she broke down, sobbing the rest: "... struggling… we're to pour half of it on the wound, the rest in your mouth."

Ron's arms engulfed her, holding her, the long reach of his arms gathering in Harry too, squeezing them to him, his voice broken: "Oh Harry, you won't be alone. We'll be there with you, every step of the way. We'll feel your pain, hold you, and you can be damned sure, we'll be on time with that potion."

Harry shook with a slightly hysterical giggle, and he punched Ron in the arm, saying: "You'd better be, mate!"

Then he stepped away from them, picking up a fang, and with a grimace, he plunged it into his throat, making blood gush out and green poison trickle into the wound. Sinking to his knees, he reached out a hand to them, and the three of them hurried to his side, grasping his hands, and laying his head at rest in Minerva's lap.

 _It was awful. She could see his green eyes glaze over, his body shuddering, spasming, and his arms would have flailed with the pain, if Ron and her hadn't held on to his hands. His nose started bleeding, and his legs were drumming against the stone floor, his head rearing up, Minerva pressing it down. Later, she had no idea how long it took, but it felt like a lifetime, before he finally stilled, the poison paralyzing him slowly._

And then Harry's breath stuttered, and his heart missed a beat - then two - and then it stopped. Counting silently the five, agonizing seconds of waiting like Severus had instructed her to do, Hermione wrenched the stopper from the vial, pouring half on the wound, the potion making a hissing sound, emitting smoke as it met the raw skin and flesh, and the rest went into his mouth, her hands gently massaging his punctured throat to let the antidote drizzle down his gullet.

Harry lay still, deathly pale, for almost a minute, desperation and panic growing in their hearts, Ron shifting, starting to ask: "Why doesn't… Shouldn't he react to the antidote?"

Minerva snapped: "Wait!", her face pinched, worried and stern.

Hermione fought her gut reaction to _get Severus, see if he had a solution, a miracle cure, something to… She couldn't do more, she didn't know, hadn't enough knowledge, she should have read more, studied harder, worked better to help Harry… Again, she was close to useless!_

And suddenly, Harry coughed. Once, twice, and his eyes opened.

The relief was almost overwhelming, and she felt her eyes fill with tears, her grin so wide, her cheeks almost hurt. _Harry was alive, the poison hadn't killed him, the antidote had worked…_

"You're back!" Ron shouted, pulling Harry's arm, "you're back, mate!"

"Seems to be," Harry said dazedly, before muttering: "I had the strangest vision, or experience, I don't know. Like a train station… with Dumbledore…"

"How do you feel?" Minerva said, scanning his face with urgency.

"Oh, it's gone," Harry said with surety, green eyes more happy and at the same time more pensive than she'd ever seen them. "I know, I saw it. It stayed _there,_ and I am _here_ , free. The Horcruxes are gone. Now, it's only _him_ left _._ "

Xxxx

"How did it go?" Severus pounced on her, as soon she entered their quarters. "I know he's alive, I felt them leave through the wards, both of them, but…"

Smiling at him, she said: "You did it. The potion worked, he's only Harry, now. You freed him. Both Horcruxes are gone, thanks to you. The locket - and Harry's."

"Thank Merlin," he breathed, gripping her shoulders, shoulders sagging like a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Crushed to his chest, she felt proud of him, for creating a solution to keep Harry alive, to save him. And then, she stiffened, hearing a soft whisper into her hair: "I've held my promise, I kept him safe, Lily."

The magnitude hit her slowly, relentlessly, like an avalanche spreading through her brain. _Lily, Harry's mother. Lil… the name he had shouted during sex, so long ago. The woman who died long ago. The woman he had loved. Lily Potter._

Pain and jealousy followed, shooting through her so much faster than the slow realization. _Her husband, who claimed to love her, had spent the better part of his life holding a promise in the memory of a dead witch. How could she ever compete with that?_

Holding still, because she didn't want to disturb this moment for him, knowing it had to be momentous, she tried to clamp down on her emotions, force the bitter sting of jealousy down. _She is dead, and he loves me now. There is no competition, you know that, Hermione,_ she told herself. _It's Harry's mother, you fool, Harry's dead mother. She chose another man. There wasn't anything between them. You can't blame the man for being steadfast and true, holding a promise for so many years._

Hermione swallowed, her feeling of being useless growing on her. _Severus had done so much, sacrificed so much over so many years, whereas herself… She, shallow and jealous creature she was, would never inspire feelings and devotion like that. There was nothing to it, she_ _ **was**_ _useless._

Stroking her husband's broad back, she tried to fight her tears. _Everyone contributed so much, except her. She didn't deserve Severus' love. Her own, puny feelings of caring was nothing against his great heart._

He stilled. "What is it, Hermione. Aren't you happy?"

She almost laughed. _And, he was damned perceptive too._ Shaking her head, she said: "I am. It's just… I feel like I haven't contributed like I should have. I've been … useless."

He snorted. "Useless? You? After all you've done?"

This time, the laugh came out, a bitter, mirthless little bark. "I haven't done anything. You and Minerva have saved the boys. I've just been…"

Fumbling at her side at first, his hand came up, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You have done a lot, much more than anyone would expect of you, Hermione. You've researched, you came up with the idea of getting information from the ghosts, you created the method of communicating with the boys, and you've been a valuable discussion partner - and all the while, you've taken care of an infant at all hours of the day. This isn't _nothing_ , Hermione, it is quite a lot."

She looked at him, her lips quivering, and her voice came out, almost like a whimper: "But I should have done much more! Now, everything fell to you or Minerva, and I did nothing substantial. Minerva brought them all the stuff, talked to them and helped them, while you created this potion, Imperio'ed Dolohov and brought over the Malfoys to our side, secured the locket…"

"Hermione, you're being silly," he said, with a small smile. "You're an over-achiever, you know that? Do you know, taking care of a baby is considered a full-time job? And you've probably read more these months than the average seventh-year student does in a year. You, my love, you've done much more than anyone else would have managed in your position."

"It doesn't feel like I'm silly," she grumbled. _She couldn't deny it, it felt good, getting validation from him. Maybe that's what she had missed - the steady rush of getting good grades, being admired for her knowledge from fellow students and her teachers, being the centre of attention together with Ron and Harry. Gods, she really was a shallow narcissist, wasn't she?_

"Stop," he said, stern, but not unkindly. "Stop torturing yourself with finding faults. You've been taking care of John, being a fantastic mother. You don't have to do everything yourself, you know. You, Minerva and me, we've been a team, a good team. And we couldn't have done this without you. Be proud of yourself, Hermione, because I am proud of you. And I love you. Just you."

Stupid tears were leaking again, but she smiled at him. _Severus, oh, he was wonderful. If she had told someone that Severus Snape had given her a pep-talk full of praise, no one would have believed it. But she knew, he was much more than the stern Headmaster everyone else saw. He was… her husband, her loving husband. And Lily Potter was_ _ **dead**_ _. He loved her, his wife, and a man like him would never have said something like that, if he didn't mean it._

 _Still, there was this nagging feeling of not having done enough, of shirking her duties…_

His eyes wandered over her, darkening with something primal, and she shivered.

His voice was deep and smooth, sounding like the rustle of silk trailing over naked skin: "Not to break the mood, love, but this is also consummation night. We haven't had sex over the last week, we'll need to do it tonight, and it's already late."

"I know," she whispered, feeling an almost unfamiliar trail of arousal spreading through her body, like his eyes were a heated caress on her body. _She just wanted to clear her thoughts, like she needed a scolding, a punishment to validate and cleanse her feeling of having shirked her duties. Punishment…_

On a whim, she asked, a heady thrill moving through her: "Will you spank me?"

He blinked, before he nodded slowly. "Yes, little witch, if that's what you need." Standing still, looking at her for a moment, his eyebrow rose. "What are you waiting for? Undress!"

She rushed to obey, almost ripping the buttons in her shirt, dragging her soft sweat pants over her hips, wriggling out of her knickers.

Her husband followed her movements, face stern, before he turned to the sofa, sitting down. Patting his lap, he beckoned her. "Come, lie down, arse up."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, her breath coming in little gasps of anticipation. Stumbling forward, she lowered herself to his lap, pressing her nose down into the green velvet fabric of the sofa. He caressed her buttocks, rubbing her thighs, and she could feel his breath coming faster.

One hand left her arse, and then it came swinging down, making an audible SMACK, leaving a burning sensation on her right cheek.

"One," she breathed, and a wave of excitement rushed to her as he said approvingly: "Good girl."

His hand reared up again, coming down with force on her left cheek, and she whimpered "Two!", the burning feeling spreading, connecting somehow to her nub, making her throb and ache.

He left a rapid series of slaps, upping her count to ten, and then he whispered hoarsely: "Such a lovely arse, your red cheeks jiggling so enticingly."

"Yes, sir, I'm happy to please you," she almost whined, rubbing herself against his thigh.

He grabbed her hips, moving her body closer to him. "Can you feel that, little witch?" he muttered, grinding his erection against her hip.

"Yes!" Her heart rate speeded up, and she ground herself against him.

"Oh no, you horny little witch, I control you now," he chuckled. "You will come when I say so, not a moment before, and you'll have to wait."

She made a small sound of disappointment, but ceased her rubbing.

"Obedience will be rewarded," he said, voice gritty, before he landed a new series of slaps on her, making her tingle all over, breathing heavily, arching her arse up to meet his hands.

After twenty, he rubbed her cheeks again, and his hand snaked down between her cheeks, feeling up her sex.

"Merlin, your cunt is dripping, " he said, his voice a little awed, his fingers probing between her lips. Stroking her gently, she couldn't help moaning, grinding against his fingers. His index finger found her hard nub, circling it, and his thumb entered her opening, thrusting inside her. She stiffened, arching her back, feeling her insides clamp down on him, her peak rushing towards her, and then he pulled his hands away, making her whine in disappointment.

"Not yet," he murmured, his hand coming down on her arse even harder than before, making her arse sting and her breath short. _It felt so good, the pain and the pleasure mingling in her body, overwhelming her, making her feel empty in a good way, reducing her to a body, just a living, breathing, aching body, longing to be filled up by him._

After twenty more, setting her count to forty, he stopped, and pulled her up to straddle him. His hand at her neck, he drew her into a deep kiss, his tongue entering her with force, exploring her mouth, making her writhe on his lap, grinding into his erection.

Retreating, he growled: "Tell me what you want now, wife. Tell me!"

"I want you to take me," she whimpered.

His eyes glittering at her, he said: "You can do better, girl. Beg for my cock!"

Feeling both powerfully aroused and embarrassed - _he knew she didn't use words like that, she was much to proper -_ she realized, that was his point, exactly. _He wanted her to feel humiliated by obeying his demands._

Gasping, her chest heaving against his shirt, her nipples rubbing against him, she blushed furiously as she muttered with downcast eyes: "Please, give me your cock, I want you to fuck me, hard."

"Again, not good enough," he almost snarled, bringing her chin up, locking his eyes on her. "Look at me when you beg!"

She swallowed, keeping up grinding her core to him, feeling his trousers become more soaked by the second. "Please, sir, fuck me hard with your big cock. I want you to pound my pussy, sir."

His eyes lit up, and he lifted her up from his lap, turning her to face the back of the sofa, and the soft rustle told her he had Divested himself of his clothes. His hot skin with the coarse sprinkling of chest hair came up against her back, tickling her. One arm coming around to fondle her breasts, while the other spread her legs, and then bending her forward. She could feel his cock sliding against her folds, making an almost electric jolt course through her as he rubbed up against her opening.

Steering himself inside her with one hand at the base of his cock, she moaned as he breached her, filling her up, and his hand moved around her to play with her nub.

"You're such a good girl," he purred in her ear, hips thrusting hard against her abused arse, "taking your punishment with such enthusiasm. Your sopping wet cunt is so tight and hot, and I love to bury my dick in your pussy, fucking you so hard, my obedient, little wife. Now, you can come on my cock"

He rubbed her clit vigorously, needy little sounds escaping her throat as her body tingled all over, her nipples contracting into hard, little peaks, her clit throbbing, and then she was finally there: Her walls clenching around him rhythmically, squeezing that hard, silky cock inside her, her clit fluttering against his fingers as she wailed out: "Severuuus!"

He growled behind her, his head coming down on her shoulder as he pumped into her, before she felt him harden further, and the he gasped, losing his rhythm, pulsing inside her, spending himself.

Breathing hard, he leaned back, pulling them both down on the sofa, his tall frame almost engulfing her.

For long moments, they just laid there, just _being,_ basking in the afterglow, and then her mind woke up again, her thoughts starting slowly to roll.

 _I want him to be happy. I want him to come, to feel good about this. I want him to experience bliss. I love him too, I think._ That revelation hit her hard, making her almost tear up, feeling tenderness well up inside her, for this complicated, moody wizard which she shared her life with. _She had thought she cared for him, a lot, but she had never thought it to be love. Clearly, it was._

Turning towards him, nuzzling his chest, she whispered: "I love you, Severus."

At that, he stilled, his arms strengthening his grip on her body almost convulsively. "You do?" his voice was almost broken, a croak, and she nodded, breathing her confirmation: "I do."

xxxx

Christmas had passed, and she sat alone on New Years Eve, waiting for Severus to return from the Dark Lord. She had been given leave to not attend the monster's birthday this year, because of little John.

The castle felt eerily empty, most people having fled the oppressive gloom in favour of their homes, and she had taken her supper alone in their chambers, not wanting to walk through the echoing halls.

No one had said anything, but she had this nagging suspicion that _something_ would happen tonight. _They were keeping something from her, trying to protect her and John from whatever was happening. She just knew it, and Severus had looked almost shifty when he left._ Unable to sit still, she had paced the tower room ever since John had fallen asleep. The worry and anguish rose in crashing waves, making her short of breath, her skin prickling, but she tried to steel herself, telling herself that Severus was safe, that Harry and Ron were probably cooped up in 12 Grimmauld Place playing Exploding Snap. Still, she was sure: _Something was afoot. Something big, and she should have been there. She should be a part of saving the world. She should be there, to take Voldemort down._

The clock ticked by, closing in on midnight, and she felt dread rising in her body, almost overwhelming her. As the big clock on the Clock Tower tolled its deep, reverberant chimes, she suddenly felt peace settling in her mind. _All would be well. It would be alright._

It felt like her shoulders slumped down from a great height, and she couldn't help smiling. Little John woke up, cooing softly, and she gathered the small, warm body up in her arms, nuzzling his head. The baby burped contentedly, falling asleep on her shoulder once again.

From the corner of her eye, she saw something glistening and white streaking towards their tower window. Curious, because she was suddenly sure nothing would harm her, she moved towards the window. It was a bright, shining doe, a Patronus. The voice that emerged from it was oddly hollow, but still, she could recognize her husband's deep voice:

"Voldemort has fallen. We have won, Harry killed him at Malfoy Manor at midnight. I'll be there shortly to take you to 12 Grimmauld Place."

Her breath stuttering, she clasped John in her arms, feeling a shock of elation whizzing through her body.

Soon after, the signature **CRACK**! of Apparition reverberated through the chamber, and Severus stood in their room, chest heaving, soot and blood streaking his face.

"Oh," she ran to him, with a soft cry, mindful of not waking the baby. "Are you hurt?"

"No love, it isn't my blood," he said, clutching her to him. "He died, Harry took him by surprise as he held a speech. Thanks to Minerva's power of persuasions, Harry believed us. The Malfoys and I was able to smuggle him in, him wearing his cloak, and he just wandered into the ballroom and killed Voldemort as he sat on that throne of his. There was no reveal, no taunting, only a silent Avada, too fast and from too short a range for Voldemort to react. Incredibly anticlimatic, to tell the truth, but very, very effective. Then, we fought our way out of the ensuing chaos, and now, we'll meet everyone at Grimmauld. It's over, Hermione, it's finally over."

He looked so relieved, so young, carefree and happy, and for herself, she felt like her face was split in two by her big grin.

Xxxx

They Flooed into the great fireplace of the Grimmauld kitchen, the silence as they emerged from the sooty fireplace deafening. The remaining Order was there in full force, glasses of wine and bottles passed around, the smell of cooking wafting from the stove, but all of them standing abruptly still, staring wide-eyed. Then their expressions came alive again, some looking sheepish, some being confused, and some looked angry. She winced by seeing the grey, drawn face of Arthur Weasley, shoulders slumping as he stood still in a corner, clutching his glass.

"Mione!" Ron shouted, launching himself at her, hugging her carefully before he touched little Johns nose, saying with a surprising and unfamiliar cooing note in his voice: "Ooh, look, who's coming to visit with mama and papa? Is it exciting, or do we scare you? No, don't worry, little one, we're all nice people, though we're noisy. Your mama and papa will take care of you, and Uncle Ron will be there, every step of the way, little boy. If my Mum was here..." his voice caught a little.

Grinning at first, she realized Ron was a Weasley through and through. _He couldn't help it, babies made him all soft and doe-eyed,_ but her smile fell quickly at the thought of his loss. Patting his back, she whispered: "I miss Molly too, Ron." He grimaced, pain fluttering over his face, before plastering a smile on his face. "Not tonight, Hermione, tonight is a celebration."

He leaned down again, tickling John under his chin, the baby laughing and squirming in her arms.

She felt Severus shift beside her, and giving him a quick glance, she saw a look of horror pass over his face, before his features smoothed into a look of resignation. Almost giggling, she could very well imagine what had been going through his mind. It would clearly be something along the lines of: _Merlin, does Weasley think he'll play Uncle to my son? Will he visit us? Gods, no… Oh well, this too, I will survive…_

The small crowd started whispering, several looking uncomfortable and unhappy. She saw Ginny scowling at her, saying quite clearly to Neville: "The Carrows killed my Mum because of her. They told me in class."

Neville shook his head, laying a heavy hand on Ginny's shoulder, and said equally clearly: "Ginny, that's not Hermione's fault. She only played a part, and you should lay the blame where it belongs on the Carrows, or Voldemort. Not those two."

Hermione gave Neville a small, grateful nod, and he beamed back at her.

Everyone stilled as Harry moved forward, movements stiff as he shook Severus' hand. "Thank you, for your sacrifices and for keeping us safe. And…" his eyes dragged over to Hermione, a sour twist to his mouth: "...for keeping Hermione safe and happy."

Harry gave her a quick hug before whispering: "I should have known, Hermione. You'd never stay with him if he was _truly_ bad."

She gave him a small smile, knowing the implication of "truly." Harry might have accepted the truth of Severus' allegiance, but he'd never forgive him for Dumbledore.

Minerva came over, hugging them both, before raising her glass: "Everyone, I've said it earlier this night, and I'll repeat it: "Apart from Harry and Ron, these are the true heroes, sacrificing their friends and reputation for saving the world. Acknowledge them - _now."_ The willpower of the old witch poured out of her eyes, holding everyone in the room, until they all slowly, some reluctantly raised their glasses to Severus and her.

She felt Severus shift again, and suddenly, she was convinced he'd say something nasty, mean and snarky. _And no wonder, considering how they had all reviled him - and her._ He cleared his throat, and she stepped in, giving them all a brilliantly false smile, lying her teeth off: "Thank you. I _knew_ you'd all believe it. You are all much to clever to not see the truth when given proof. You are all such _wonderful_ people."

Keeping her smile up, seeing the sudden awkward and abashed faces, she fought to keep a rather bitter laugh in. _They weren't ready to believe just yet. Only Harry's reluctant declaration and Minerva's force held them back from hexing her family. They didn't even believe Ron's affectionate behaviour, probably suspecting foul play along the lines of an Imperius. Maybe it would come in time, but not tonight. The situation was too new, too awkward for them to handle, being expected to embrace the man they had thought to be the second worst villain in magical Britain. But she would make them see. She would convince them all. There was no way she'd allow a continued disparagement of her husband._

Beside her, Severus stiffened at her words, before he suddenly coughed, his torso shaking slightly. Giving him a suspicious glance, she saw he was indeed laughing. Those black eyes bored into hers, pressing a message into her mind: " _Oh sweet Hermione, this will be awkward. Awkward for years and years to come."_

* * *

 **A/N** : _And thus "Awkward" ends. The awkwardness between Severus and Hermione is gone, but their relation to the rest of the wizarding world will still be precarious and awkward for a while. BUt don't worry: the future Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger, is on the warpath. She'll browbeat them all into acceptance. *grins*_

 _Thank you for following, reviewing and favouriting "Awkward"! It has been a long ride, with an unexpected long hibernation as Voldemort took over my mind (lol!) with my story "Tom, just Tom." I've enjoyed the slow development of "Awkward", growing from a oneshot to a long story, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it too._


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